The Fundamental Things Of Life
by Sth10
Summary: After learning his Australian nephew is on the verge of falling into a life of crime, John Boulton makes a rare trip to Sydney with girlfriend Claire and discovers that the past is not so easily forgotten.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N - **The characters of Mike Boulton's family are entirely my own and are copywrited to me, not Thames/Pearson. Also, the intepretation of John's father was originally started several years ago by a great mate of mine, who sadly doesn't write anymore, so I am merely continuing what was begun. I don't deserve the credit for it!  
  
THE FUNDAMENTAL THINGS OF LIFE

On the basketball court, all activity stopped. The ball fell, bouncing away as the four players halted, the sound echoing round the silent court. Heads tipped, listening for the returning fire or the shout of war. Nothing.  
  
Gazes moved to the sideline, where the leader leant against the metal fence. Keat dropped his cigarette onto the cracked, unmaintained tarmac.  
  
"Not our call."  
  
His boys relaxed, hands moving away from their shoulder holsters. One retrieved the ball and the game continued, the players leaping up to shoot at the old, rusted hoop that threatened to break off the backboard every time the ball touched it.  
  
Keat lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to trickle out between his lips. He watched his 'men', all teenagers aged between sixteen and eighteen, in an observing silence. He had picked his group carefully; all were strong, fit and street-smart, recommended to him by his contacts that watched the local high schools for possibles. They were a good force.  
  
A metallic rattling indicated the gate to the court was being opened. Again, the game came to sharp halt as the group spun to see who was entering onto their home turf. Hands shot to holsters, shirtless torsos showing their tensed muscles.  
  
"Cool it." Again Keat didn't move, allowing his own shooter to continue lying on the bench next to him.  
  
Eyes shot over to him, then returned to looking at the teenager standing easy at the entrance to the court. He wore the uniform baggy jeans and basketball vest, complete with expensive Nike trainers that looked wrong with his 'street' outfit. His hair was in their crew-cut style. Around his neck, on the outside of his vest, hung a gold chain with the syllables 'J2' – their name. The men relaxed, reassured that their turf wasn't being trodden on, and exchanged low fives with the arrival in way of greeting.  
  
"Hey, Nick." Keat flashed the teen a quick grin that seemed foreign in his strong, angular face. "How's it goin', man." He liked to speak in American street patois, to distinguish himself from the other teen gang leaders in the hood.  
  
"Keat," Nicholas Boulton replied easily, his Sydney accent portraying a slight hint of British despite the fact he had been born and raised in Australia.  
  
Keat swept his eyes over him. This kid was his youngest interest, just fifteen years old, but already strong and well developed. He showed no fear, no sense of intimidation and held airs of arrogance and self-control that Keat liked. Nick had been with the group for just over three weeks, already proving himself to be a valuable member thanks to his natural agility and surprising strength.  
  
"Hit the game, guys," Keat ordered when his men continued to stand around. "Me and Nick needa talk."  
  
They acknowledged his quiet order, returning to the hoop without waiting for the kid to join them. Nick moved with Keat to sit on the bench back and accepted the cigarette offered to him. Keat watched him carefully as he lit up.  
  
Nick wasn't from their hood; he lived in the smart part of town with his professional parents. They had a huge house, two cars in the garage, a pool in the back yard, gold cards, things J2 could only dream about. Nick had gone to one of Sydeny's most exclusive private schools, where he had been picked out after a fight for which he had been expelled. He'd left his opponent with a smashed eye socket and two cracked ribs. Keat had been unable to ignore such potential and since joining the group, Nick had never hesitated to prove himself, resulting in him being arrested three times. Keat's decision to take him on board had ended up being a good one.  
  
"You up for getting a car tonight?"  
  
Nick inhaled the smoke and held it in his lungs for a few seconds before releasing it. He didn't hesitate in his reply. "Sure. What you looking for?"  
  
"You choose it, man."  
  
"Okay. Let's do it."  
  
Keat summoned the others over. Nick jumped down to stand with them as they gathered round their leader. Keat noticed with amusement that he measured up at least two inches shorter than the others, all rangy six footers. It kinda proved that he was still just a kid, despite the lean muscle and adult confidence.  
  
"Nick's gonna get us a car," he announced.  
  
Nick took an involuntary step forward as Pantha, seventeen-years-old, six foot one of wiry muscle and quick temper, punched him on the back. "Go for a sports, mate."  
  
"No," Keat interrupted before Nick could respond. "We're staying round here tonight. Just take the first one you want, Nick."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Let's move, guys."  
  
The men picked up their vests from where they had been dropped and pulled them over their muscular, sweat-shined bodies. Keat in the middle, they moved off their court and sauntered down the back street into the hazy summer night.  
  
Nick spotted the car. He nodded to Keat, who halted. The men gathered round him automatically, cigarettes dangling from between their lips.  
  
"Get it open, man," Keat ordered.  
  
Nick glanced round at the other four, standing easy with hands buried in their deep pockets. This was Year 7 stuff to them.  
  
"Go for it." Denver, sixteen and known for his love of turf wars, removed his cigarette for long enough to drawl his sentence.  
  
Nick's hand moved to his back pocket and produced his tool. A quick glance round told him the street was deserted and he moved off the sidewalk to the old Chevy. With newly practised skill, he inserted the tool in the gap between the driver's door and the back door and carefully moved the piece of metal up and down until he heard the lock click up.  
  
"I'm in."  
  
He pulled the door open and slid into the driver's seat, reached under the steering wheel to jerk loose the wires used to hot-start the car. As he hooked the wires together, the engine roared.  
  
He stretched over and unlocked the passenger door so Keat could slip in beside him.  
  
"Nice one. Let's take her for a spin."  
  
The other four moved forward to crush themselves into the back seats. As Pantha opened the door, the familiar sound of sirens started up and the red and blue lights of a patrol car illuminated the dark street.  
  
"Bail!" Keat snapped.  
  
He dived out of the car and took off; Nick and his men close on his heels. The sound of the cops behind them pounded in Nick's ears as they gained distance on the gang.  
  
"Keat. Want me to hold them off?" he sprinted alongside Keat, panting heavily from the sudden burst of speed.  
  
Keat glanced at him. "Go for it, man. You're good."  
  
That was all the encouragement Nick needed. He skidded to a halt and turned to face the cops. They leapt on him, throwing him to the ground and handcuffing him. The now-familiar feeling of the tight, cold metal failed to bother him.  
  
"Well, look who it is. Getting to be a real little hooligan, aren't you, son?"  
  
"I'm not your son. Fuck you!"  
  
He was dragged to his feet and shoved against the wall.  
  
"Shut up, will you?"  
  
Nick fell silent, catching his breath while the cops searched him, a routine he was growing to know. Suddenly, he froze Shit! How the hell could he have forgotten? The main reason for meeting the gang had been to give back the handgun Keat had asked him to keep while his place got searched. He hadn't had chance to give it back. The gun was still tucked in the back of his jeans...  
  
Panic engulfed him and he began to struggle, yelling and swearing. One cop held his head firmly against the wall while his partner continued the search. Nick tensed as the cop's hands reached his jeans.  
  
"What we got here then?"  
  
Nick was spun round and the handgun shoved in his face.  
  
"Is this yours?"  
  
He swallowed hard. Again, his brain failed to support him.  
  
"Yeah," he eventually said. "It's mine."  
  
X X X  
  
Mike Boulton hung up the phone and closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head.  
  
"Who was that?" The question drifted through from the kitchen.  
  
Mike was silent, thoughts cascading into his head.  
  
"Mike?" Jen, his wife of eighteen years, walked through from the kitchen.  
  
He looked up. "It's Nicky. He's down at Hazel Rigg station. They pulled him in fifteen minutes ago."  
  
"Again? What's going on with him?"  
  
"I wish I knew." Mike pulled his jacket off the coat stand and reached for his keys. "I'd better go and find out what he's done this time."  
  
"We've got to do something, Mike. He's getting out of control."  
  
"I know, Jen. We'll sort something out. We'll get through to him, somehow."  
  
"He hasn't listened so far."  
  
Mike rubbed his eyes. "No. He hasn't."  
  
Jen hesitated slightly. "Why don't you give John a call?"  
  
"John? Why the hell would I get my brother involved in this?"  
  
"Because he's a cop, Mike. He deals with this sort of stuff every day. He'll know something we can try. Mike, listen to me. We need some help on this, Nick needs help."  
  
"Nick's my son. Not John's. And he wouldn't want to know anyway. He's too busy living the London life, too busy getting on without me."  
  
"You can't say that..."  
  
"Jen, I'm not going to argue now. John's my kid brother, I know him. And I know he won't want to get caught up in this. I've got to go."  
  
"Don't be too hard on Nick, will you?"  
  
Mike either didn't hear, or he pretended not to.  
  
X X X  
  
The door slammed hard. Jen recognised it as the usual signal of her eldest son returning home. It was following by the heavy thumping of size ten trainer-clad feet running up the stairs, then another dull thud of a bedroom door.  
  
She sighed, and heard the front door open and close again, this time quieter. Mike entered the living room, where she sat on the expensive sofa, their six-month-old daughter asleep in her arms.  
  
"Oh God, Jen," he sighed, standing, looking lost in the room, "what the hell are we gonna do?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
He met her eyes. "He has to appear in youth court in two weeks."  
  
"Youth court? What's he done?"  
  
Mike wiped his brow. "He was found with a gun on him...."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Jen, Nicky had a gun. Jesus, how could it go this far?"  
  
There was a sudden stomping of smaller, lighter feet down the stairs and a thud of landing in the hallway from three steps up. Jen and Mike both turned toward the door as their youngest son entered the room.  
  
"What's up with Nick?" Danny asked, thumbing over his shoulder. "He just went and slammed the door on me when I asked him."  
  
"Nothing for you to worry about," Jen answered with more calm that she felt.  
  
"He's in trouble again, isn't he?"  
  
"Go back upstairs, Daniel." Mike suddenly felt to tired to deal with his inquisitive eleven-year-old.  
  
"But, Dad..."  
  
"Just do it!"  
  
Danny flinched at his father's harsh voice. "Okay," he replied, meekly, and returned quietly to his room.  
  
"Mike, this isn't Danny's fault. And for God's sake don't wake Lia." Jen glanced down at their sleeping daughter.  
  
"Jen, please. Just don't lecture me, right?" He shook his head angrily and went to the foot of the stairs.  
  
"Nick, come down here."  
  
There was no answer apart from the increase of volume from a stereo, lending a dull thudding to the ceiling as the muted bass and tones echoed in Nick's room.  
  
"Nicholas Jonathan Boulton, get down here NOW!" Mike's voice rose toward the end and penetrated the music, which was switched off a moment later.  
  
Mike walked back into the living room and leant against the decorated mantle piece, extravagant in design against the soft patterned walls. A large gold framed mirror hung above the fire and Mike looked up to his reflection, then to the image of Nick walking into the room. They stared at one another in the reflective glass, before Mike turned, fury blazing in his eyes.  
  
"What the HELL were you thinking, Nicholas?"  
  
"Nick," mumbled the teenager, eyes almost burning a hole on the floor.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dad, I hate it when you call me Nicholas!" He looked up to meet his father's hard stare.  
  
Mike looked at his eldest son and for a split second he saw not Nick, but John, his kid brother, aged fifteen, standing seething with familiar unbridled rage. The similarity in them was astounding, despite the fact that Nick's hair was jet black. For Mike, it was like looking back in time, seeing his brother's childhood all over again. He felt saddened.  
  
"You live under this bloody roof, you live by my rules, son!"  
  
"So c'mon, what now? Grounded, sent to my room? I'm fifteen, Dad, what're you gonna do?" Nick had the same Boulton stubborn streak and rage in him that coursed through their family. His fists clenched tightly, bare arms revealing lean strips of muscles as the biceps and triceps tensed.  
  
The challenge infuriated Mike and he stepped forward menacingly to stand face-to-face with the son that now towered over him and could probably floor him with a single blow. "Don't get cocky, Nicholas."  
  
Jen watched this in horror. She could see that neither would back down and she knew that Nick was now strong enough and more importantly, confident enough, to dare fight his father if angered enough.  
  
"Back off, Dad, you can't do anything! Keat said if you..."  
  
His words were cut off by the cracking sound of a fist across the young boy's face. Jen watched as if in slow motion as her son raised himself from where he had sprawled to the floor, his hand rubbing his jaw, hazel eyes blazing with unrepentant rage as his father stood before him, his right hand still balled into a fist. Shaking with anger, he raised a gaze burning with hatred to Mike's horrified face and for a second, Jen thought Nick was going to fight back.  
  
"Jesus, Nicky...Nick...I'm sorry..." Mike stuttered. He stepped forward to comfort his son, but before he could touch him, Nick gave one last glare at him and bolted for the front door.  
  
"Nick!"  
  
But the door had already slammed closed. His son had gone.  
  
X X X  
  
Darkness had settled over Sun Hill hours ago by the time John Boulton and Claire Stanton arrived back at his flat, slightly drunk and kissing passionately in the back of a taxi. Once inside the quiet, still flat they shattered the tranquillity, flicking on the stereo system and all the lights and collapsing in a tangle of limbs on the couch.  
  
"I love you," he whispered in her ear.  
  
She smiled, her face centimetres away from his, and watched as his hazel eyes lit up.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
She moved her head so it was resting on his shoulder, relishing the feel of his fingers running gently through her hair.  
  
"Why can't moments like this last?"  
  
John's eyes flicked across to the round table in the far corner of the room that he used as a phone stand. As usual, the cordless phone had disappeared from its place, but a red light flashed on the answer machine, telling him he had a message.  
  
"John? You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
She sat up. "You're more interested in the bloody phone."  
  
"No, I'm not! But it might be Duncan. I asked him to dig up some dirt on this dealer I'm after while he's on the graveyard shift."  
  
"So, you'd rather listen to Duncan Lennox than me? God, my old guv'nor was right. You should never date another copper..."  
  
He didn't allow her to finish her sentence, sealing his lips against hers before she got chance to get the rest of her words out. Any resistance she might have had melted instantly.  
  
"All right, listen to the message. I'm gonna get a night-cap."  
  
His face creased into that gorgeous smile she loved. Unable to hide her return smile of amusement, she rolled her eyes dramatically and wandered through to the small, sparse kitchen to find the bottle of whiskey she'd left a couple of weeks ago. For some reason, John never had any whiskey.  
  
John tapped the 'play' button on the answer machine and waited to hear Duncan's Glasgow brogue. Instead, an accent very similar to his own reached his ears.  
  
"Jonny... John...it's Mike. Listen, Nick's in trouble again. He got arrested last night."  
  
John took a double take on hearing those words. A frown creased his forehead and it took a few seconds before he was able to tune back in to listen to the rest of the message.  
  
"...I don't know what to do anymore, John. He won't listen to a word I say. I'm scared he's going to do something stupid, he's getting in too deep, I know he is. I keep thinking that sooner or later he's gonna drag Danny down with him as well."  
  
There was a short silence before his brother continued, sounding slightly hoarse.  
  
"I...I hit him last night. I just snapped and...I punched him. John, I don't know what else I can do. Ring me when you get this message. Please."  
  
There was the sound of Mike's phone being replaced, then silence. Only then did John notice Claire standing in the doorway.  
  
"What was that all about?"  
  
He shook his head. "Nothing. Family problems."  
  
She handed him a glass of whiskey. "Who's been arrested?"  
  
John hesitated slightly, looking into the glass. His grip tightened around it and he eventually put it down on the table, pushing it to the far side.  
  
"What?" Claire was puzzled by his behaviour.  
  
"Nothing. I... I don't drink Scotch." He faltered slightly and didn't say any more.  
  
"So, who's been arrested?" Claire sat down next to him.  
  
"My brother's eldest."  
  
"Nick, isn't it?" she asked.  
  
He seemed surprised that she had remembered the scant information he had given her when she had once asked about his family.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He reached down to the answer machine again, his fingers playing over the buttons. Then he slowly pressed the delete button and wiped his brother's message from the tape.  
  
"What was that for?" Claire watched him carefully, noticing the spark of emotion in his eyes.  
  
"Mike gave up needing my help a long time ago. He doesn't need me now."  
  
"It sounded like he did."  
  
"Look, Claire. My brother is perfectly capable of sorting his own problems out. I'm not getting involved in his business. It's been too long to start doing that again."  
  
"John, he's your brother."  
  
"I know that." His voice was low and emotionless.  
  
"Then why won't you help him out?"  
  
"Because, Claire, Mike lost my support when he upped and left. He left me to deal with my problems on my own. Now I'm gonna do the same to him."  
  
Claire shook her head. "And there was me thinking you were loyal."  
  
She turned and headed back out of the door.  
  
"Claire? Where you going?" he called after her.  
  
"To bed. And don't bother coming until you've got your priorities sorted out, John. You can't just turn your back on your family like that."  
  
John was left to stare after her, unable to think of anything to say. When she had gone he shoved the whiskey glass as far across the table as possible and dropped onto the sofa, pulling the blanket down from the back to cover himself with.  
  
"Just watch me."


	2. Family Ties

CHAPTER 2 – FAMILY TIES  
  
The familiar shrill tones of the phone penetrated John's slumber, forcing him to crack open one tired eye. Sunlight streamed in through the living room window, him having forgotten to draw the blinds the night before, almost blinding him. He allowed the eye to close again and pulled his cushion over his head to block out the noise.  
  
Eventually the ringing stopped and he heard Claire's voice.  
  
"Yeah, he's here. I think he's still asleep. Is that Mike?"  
  
John raised the cushion a fraction of an inch to hear what was being said. Claire's footsteps sounded as she moved from the bedroom into the living room, where she proceeded to poke him with the phone aerial.  
  
"John? Mike's on the phone."  
  
"Tell him to get stuffed," he mumbled. "It's 6:30 am, for Christ's sake."  
  
The cushion was pulled off his head and he winced as his eyes were once again exposed to the sunlight. Before he could come round sufficiently enough to put up a protest, the phone was shoved into his hand.  
  
"Mike?" He grudgingly raised the phone to his ear, shoving himself up into a sitting position.  
  
"Did I wake you?"  
  
"Nah, mate. I'm always up at 6:30 in the bloody morning." John's natural line in Scouser sarcasm was always at its best first thing.  
  
"I'm taking it you got my message."  
  
"Yeah, I got it."  
  
"Did you take the time to listen to it?"  
  
"Mike, what is this? Twenty Questions or something?"  
  
"Why didn't you ring me back?"  
  
"Because I don't want to get involved in your family, Mike. It's nothing to do with me."  
  
"Nick's your nephew! He adores you, John and right now he needs your help. If you can't do it for me, then do it for Nicky..."  
  
"Nick," John automatically corrected.  
  
"Knock it off, John. I've heard it all before. Don't call Danny Daniel. Remember Nick isn't Nicky anymore. Jesus, we're gonna come up with a short name for Lia soon."  
  
"Lia?" John failed to recognise the name.  
  
"Your niece, John. Baby, six months old. Remember?"  
  
"Back off, Mike."  
  
There was a slight sigh.  
  
"All right, I'm sorry. Look, John, you know what Nick thinks of you. If he'll listen to anyone, it'll be you. Will you just talk to him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"John!"  
  
"I want to know why you hit him first."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why did you punch your fifteen-year-old son, Mike? You just don't do that sorta thing!" John's accent became more pronounced as he raised his voice.  
  
"He was found carrying a gun, John!" Mike's own voice rose to shouting level.  
  
John stopped dead.  
  
"A gun?"  
  
"Yeah, my fifteen-year-old son was carrying! I'm terrified he's gettin' involved in drugs."  
  
For a few seconds John could think of nothing to say. Then he muttered "Put Nick on."  
  
He heard Mike yelling Nick's name. For a couple of minutes there was nothing, then the extension was picked up and Nick's voice, now fully- broken and dull from lack of sleep, came on the line. He didn't sound like the relaxed, happy-go-lucky kid John remembered. He sounded like a...man.  
  
"John?"  
  
"How you doin', Nick?"  
  
"Okay, I guess. I've only just got in, I stayed with a mate last night."  
  
"Because of what your dad did?"  
  
Silence. John frowned.  
  
"Nick, why were you carrying a gun?"  
  
Another silence. Then "Not you as well! Man, I thought you'd be different, John! I thought you were all right! Just shows how wrong I was."  
  
"Nick..."  
  
"Get screwed, man. I don't need you any more."  
  
And the extension was slammed down with brute force, and John was left with the dawning reality that his nephew was no longer some weak, defenceless kid. After a few seconds, Mike came back on his own extension.  
  
"See? That's what he's like with everyone."  
  
John let out a long sigh. "Just leave it with me, Mike. I'll sort something out.  
  
"Thanks, John."  
  
John replied slowly "What brothers are for."  
  
X X X  
  
"What you going to do?"  
  
John stared into his coffee mug as he sat on top of the kitchen worksurface.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Claire looked over at him.  
  
"What'd you want to do?"  
  
"I don't know that either."  
  
"No?"  
  
He finally met her gaze. "All right, you know what I really want to do? I want to get on the first flight to Sydney and beat the crap out of those little gits that Nick's got involved with."  
  
"Then why don't you?"  
  
"Because I don't particularly want to get arrested."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"I can't just drop everything and go, Claire."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because..." John quickly found he didn't have a reason and fell silent.  
  
"Listen, John. It sounds to me like Mike needs you. And Nick."  
  
John took a mouthful of his coffee, which had long gone cold.  
  
"I'm gonna have to go, aren't I?" The words were uttered quietly, as if it had just dawned on him that he didn't have a choice.  
  
"If you care about them."  
  
"Course I care about them!"  
  
Claire softened, moving across the kitchen to rest her hand on top of his. "I know you do."  
  
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I'd better ask Meadows if I can get some leave. Doesn't sound like it can wait until my next holiday."  
  
He got down from the worksurface and headed for the door. He never liked to hang around once he'd decided to do something.  
  
"John?" Claire called after him.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you feel uncomfortable being with them because you're on your own? You know, surrounded by family when you're not used to it?"  
  
"I guess so." He seemed deliberately evasive. "I don't get on with Mike all that well any more. And I don't really know his wife."  
  
She followed him into the bedroom and watched while he knotted his tie.  
  
"Why... Why don't you let me come?"  
  
He stopped. "You what?"  
  
"You said it yourself. You don't feel as if you can talk to them, you're on your own. You wouldn't be if I was with you."  
  
"Why the hell would you want to get dragged into my family's problems?"  
  
"Because I love you and I don't want you feeling trapped like that. Come on, John, I know you. You'd go crazy after even a few days of it."  
  
"Claire, believe me, you don't want to come."  
  
"Look, Mike sounded really nice on the phone. I might even enjoy the break."  
  
John snorted and continued putting his tie on. "My brother always sounds nice."  
  
"Let me come, John."  
  
"It's not fair on you."  
  
"Okay, tell me you don't want me with you. Look at me and tell me you'd rather I stayed here."  
  
He paused. "I can't. I've been thinking for ages about taking you away. But not like this."  
  
"Sun, beaches, beautiful weather? What could be better?"  
  
He rubbed his eyes, the tell-tale sign that he was close to defeat. "You're not going to give up, are you?"  
  
"Do I ever?"  
  
"All right, I tell you what. If you can get the leave, then great, we'll go together. But don't blame me if you want to get straight on the next flight home."  
  
Claire smiled in satisfaction. "Deal."  
  
X X X  
  
"Guv?" John tapped on Meadows' office door and cracked it open.  
  
Meadows glanced up. "John. Unusual for you to be talkative at this time in the morning."  
  
He was amazed when John acknowledged the remark with a smile.  
  
"You got a minute, guv?"  
  
"Yeah, take a seat."  
  
John opted to take up his usual position, leaning against the filing cabinet.  
  
"What can I do for you?" Meadows put down his pen and gave John his full attention.  
  
"You know you were saying a few weeks ago that I had some leave I'd never taken?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I was wondering if I could take it now. As in starting next week."  
  
"What's the sudden rush? Your girlfriend demanding to go on holiday or something?"  
  
John managed to hide a smile. If only you knew. "Family trouble, guv."  
  
"Going back to Liverpool, then?"  
  
Stop asking bloody questions! "No, guv. Australia."  
  
Meadows raised an eyebrow. "Australia? It's all right for some, escaping the winter. It'll be the middle of summer over there, won't it?"  
  
"Probably." John didn't go into details. "Is it all right if I take the leave, then?"  
  
"Yeah, I don't see why not. You deserve a break. I'll authorise it."  
  
"Thanks, guv."  
  
"No problem. Just get those witness statements today, will you? Leave everything relatively sorted, maybe even get some paperwork cleared?"  
  
Yeah, right. "Right, guv. Thanks." John made a quick exit before Meadows could dream up any more questions or any more orders.  
  
In the office, he paused for just long enough to retrieve his leather jacket and a case file before he headed off back down the corridor to collect Meadows' witness statements, whistling softly to himself.  
  
He ran into Claire on the stairs.  
  
"So?"  
  
He nodded. "It's sorted. Your turn."  
  
"Don't worry, John. I can talk Meadows round."  
  
"I won't need to wish you luck then."  
  
She gave him a confident smile. "I'll give you a call when it's sorted."  
  
"I'll be waiting."  
  
X XX  
  
Claire strode through the main office area, acknowledging various greetings with a smile or quick reply. She reached the teak door emblazoned with the nameplate 'Det. Supt. Hodges' and knocked briefly before entering.  
  
"Claire." Hodges looked up with a smile. "What you doing in this neck of the woods?"  
  
Claire ignored the smile and the greeting that was supposed to be halfway between familiar and friendly. She didn't particularly like Hodges, especially not since he had been trying to pin corruption charges on John. He was too sly, she never quite knew what he was thinking, and perhaps what she disliked the most was his habit of passing the buck every time something went wrong. Meadows left the CIB boss standing in terms of rating as a guv'nor.  
  
"Morning, guv. I just wanted a quick word."  
  
"Fine. What's on your mind?"  
  
"I heard this morning that John Boulton's taken some leave. He's flying out to Australia tomorrow. Sydney, I think."  
  
"Right. And why are you telling me?"  
  
"I thought you were interested in him as well as Beech."  
  
"Hang on a minute. Last week you were telling me that John Boulton is God's little angel, never puts a foot wrong and wouldn't dream of being bent."  
  
"Yes, guv. But don't you think it's a bit strange that he suddenly drops everything and takes off? It's not like him. And what reason does he have to go there?" Claire's face remained expressionless, her honed skills of subtle manipulation coming into play.  
  
Hodges mulled it over for a minute. Claire wanted to laugh. He'd taken the bait, as usual thinking how good he would look if his undercover DS found something. She knew from experience that once Hodges started considering his own personal gain from something, he rarely said no to whatever it was.  
  
"I think we need to remember that Beech is our main target."  
  
"You've said it yourself, guv. Beech isn't the only one we could net from this."  
  
"What do you think Boulton's up to, then?" he eventually asked.  
  
"I'm not sure, guv. But don't you think it might be worth looking into?"  
  
Again, Hodges thought about it. "I suppose we could get one of the others to keep an eye on Beech... And it'd look fantastic if we nailed Boulton as well...  
  
Hook, line and sinker, Claire thought. She remained silent, allowing Hodges to continue weighing up the pros and cons, secretly enjoying getting one over on him..  
  
"Okay, Claire," he suddenly seemed to get a burst of optimism. "I want you to follow Boulton, find out what he's up to over there." As usual, he made it sound as if the whole idea had come from him and even looked at his DS as if he expected congratulations for coming up with such a brilliant plan.  
  
"Yes, guv." She managed to say it without gritting her teeth.  
  
Hodges reached for his desk phone. "I'll phone Sun Hill and tell Brownlow that you're being pulled out for an operation. The usual need-to-know thing and you'll be covered with Meadows. Can I leave it to you to sort out the flight arrangements?"  
  
Patronising git. "Course, guv."  
  
Hodges grinned happily. "Right. You'd better go and get on with it. Keep in touch."  
  
Prat, Claire thought. She made good her escape and left the building, pulling out her mobile once she was safely in the car.  
  
"John? It's me."  
  
"Did you need luck after all?"  
  
"Nope. From next Monday, I'm officially on leave."  
  
"That's great. I think. How'd you manage to worm your way round Meadows?"  
  
"It's called charm, John. You'll learn about it one day."  
  
"Yeah, very funny. I'll go and get the flight booked now. See you round mine?"  
  
"Okay, I should be finished by six. I take it you're skiving."  
  
"Me? Nah."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. See you."  
  
X X X  
  
"Sir, I'm already one sergeant down with John Boulton gone! I can't lose another."  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack. There's nothing you can do about it. Orders from above both of us." Brownlow sat in state behind his desk, unsympathetic to Meadows' manpower crisis.  
  
"Why pull Claire Stanton out? Do you know what this operation is?"  
  
"No, I don't. It's strictly need-to-know. And I don't know why they wanted Stanton."  
  
"Do you even know who 'they' is?" Meadows was way past niceties.  
  
"Jack, you know the score on this sort of thing. Keep it quiet and don't ask questions. You'll get Stanton back, until then you'll just have to cope."  
  
"Well, thank you, sir," Meadows snapped. "And what am I supposed to tell the troops?"  
  
"I don't know. Say she's been seconded for a couple of weeks. If they ask any questions, just say you don't know. Just tell them something, Jack. I've got enough problems without yours as well."  
  
"Great. Just great."  
  
"Thank you, Jack. That's all." Brownlow gave him the 'leave before you dig yourself a deeper hole' look.  
  
Meadows took great pleasure in slamming the door behind him.  
  
Meadows' office door slammed shut. Mickey Webb winced and turned to give Duncan a comical look.  
  
"Guv'nor's in a good mood, then."  
  
"He's probably regretting letting John Boulton go on leave. We're snowed under."  
  
Mickey unfolded his newspaper. "You don't need to tell me, mate. I'm up to my eyeballs."  
  
"Yeah, it looks like it," Duncan snorted. "You should try doing some real work for a change, mate."  
  
"Nah. I probably wouldn't like it."  
  
"Please, children. Can you leave the fights in the playground?" Kerry sailed past them with half a dozen files.  
  
Mickey grinned at her. "Come on, Kerry. You know you fancy me really."  
  
"In your dreams, Mickey."  
  
Meadows stopped the conversation from going any further, storming into the general office. "Listen up." His raised voice drowned out any conversations.  
  
His officers fell silent, turning to look at him.  
  
"Right, as you know John Boulton's gone on leave. And I've just found out that we've also lost Claire Stanton."  
  
"You what?" Geoff Daly's head snapped up. "Guv..."  
  
"I know, Geoff. I don't like it any more than you but you'll just have to get on with it. There's nothing I can do."  
  
"Where's Claire gone, guv?" Mickey spoke up.  
  
"She's been seconded for a couple of weeks. And before you start asking questions, that's all I know and that's all you're going to be told."  
  
Mickey looked disappointed. He sent a comically rueful glance in Kerry's direction, looking for an ally. She merely looked at the ceiling.  
  
"Hey, maybe SO10 have grabbed her!" Mickey wasn't discouraged. "We'll probably never see her again now."  
  
Meadows gave him a withering look. "Thank you, Mickey. Any danger of you doing some work."  
  
"I was just thinking, guv..."  
  
"Well, don't."  
  
"Yeah, Mick. You might destroy those last few precious brain cells," Don shouted across the office.  
  
Meadows shot him the same look. "Can we please remember that we are police officers, not schoolkids? Don."  
  
He swept his eyes over the rest of his team. "So until Claire or John get back, you'll just have to do the best you can. I'm sorry I've had to pile everything on you."  
  
No one spoke until the DCI had returned to his own office.  
  
"Great. Just great." Mickey threw his arms out to emphasise his point. "I don't know why I bother."  
  
"No, I don't know why you do either," Duncan put in.  
  
Mickey shot him a look. "You know, she could've gone to SO10.. Maybe they've found out where Lord Lucan is, or..."  
  
"Shut up, Mickey!" Half a dozen pieces of screwed-up paper were hurled in his direction.  
  
Mickey shrugged, unperturbed by their lack of interest. He returned to his paper, his eyes automatically straying to Page Three... 


	3. No Longer A Hero

CHAPTER 3 – NO LONGER A HERO  
  
John gazed silently out of the cab window, taking in the strangely familiar sights of Sydney. He knew this place well, although he rarely admitted it. He liked Sydney. He liked the way of life, he even liked the people. Or some of the people...  
  
He moved his gaze away from the window, reaching out to put an arm round Claire as she rested her head against his shoulder.  
  
"Knackered?"  
  
"Yeah. It's all right for you, you're used to it."  
  
John smiled wryly. "Not as much as you'd think."  
  
She raised her head, shielding her eyes from the blindingly bright Australian sunshine, still full-on despite it being nearly 7pm. "How longs it been since you've come over?"  
  
"Don't know exactly. Over a year."  
  
"Doesn't it bother you, not seeing your family for so long?"  
  
"No." His answer was short, almost snappish. He swiftly hid the flash of emotion in his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, reaching to squeeze Claire's hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that."  
  
Claire didn't fail to notice the look of sadness that crossed his face. She moved closer to him, entwining his fingers in hers. "You gonna tell me about them, then?"  
  
"I already have, ages ago."  
  
"John, you told me their names. Then you went all touchy and said you didn't want to talk about them."  
  
"Well, what'd you want to know? Mike's my big brother, Jen's his wife and Nick and Danny are his kids. What else is there?"  
  
"Tell me anything. I'm gonna be staying in the same house as these people and I don't know a thing about them. Come on, John, you're not making this easy for me."  
  
"You're the one that insisted on coming."  
  
"I thought you wanted me to."  
  
John instantly softened and his arm tightened round her. "I did. I do. It's great having you with me."  
  
"So?"  
  
He let his head loll back against the seat. "All right, if you really want to know. Mike's four years older than me, he's lived out here since he was about twenty and he's an Architectural Construction Manager or something weird like that. His wife's called Jen, I think they've been married for about sixteen years..."  
  
"You mean you don't know?"  
  
"I don't remember the wedding, all right? Me and my cousin got totally slaughtered. Mike could've killed me."  
  
"I know the feeling."  
  
John decided to ignore that comment and continued. "Nick's gonna be fifteen now. He's sports-mad, that's all he cares about. He got kicked out of private school about a month ago, didn't like it there anyway, he's not what you'd call academic. But he's great, we get on really well. And Danny... Well, he's eleven, just started high school and the last time I spoke to him he was into swimming. That's about it."  
  
"They don't sound so bad."  
  
"They aren't. I just don't like doing all this family crap. I don't feel like I belong, you know? It's Mike's life and I shouldn't interfere in it."  
  
"He's your brother, John."  
  
His expression was unreadable behind the sunglasses. "Yeah."  
  
He jerked his gaze away to look out of the window again. Claire's felt his muscles tense slightly. "This is Mike's street," he muttered.  
  
Claire was not prepared for the huge houses that lined the street, set in extravagant gardens with Jaguars and Mercedes parked in the driveways. John couldn't miss the look that crossed her face.  
  
"Yeah. Mike's loaded. He's a got massive swimming pool, two top-of-the- range cars and he probably forked out about half a million to get the interior design looking like something off the cover of Best House magazine. His living room's the size of my entire flat."  
  
Claire's eyes didn't move. "Christ, John, and you don't like staying here?"  
  
"Nope. I'm always scared I'll break some priceless ornament. Or wreck the furniture or tear the wallpaper..."  
  
"It can't be that bad."  
  
The cab stopped. "That'll be thirty dollars, mate."  
  
John shoved a few notes at him. "Keep the change."  
  
He slid out to grab their bags. Claire found herself hesitating slightly but eventually got out as well.  
  
"I thought you weren't bothered about meeting my family." John couldn't resist making a dig.  
  
She reached for his hand. "Big step, isn't it? And you know what this means."  
  
"Do I?"  
  
"You'll have to meet my mum when we get back."  
  
John's face broke into a smile. "I don't think so."  
  
He slung his holdall over his shoulder and, giving her hand a squeeze, led the way up the drive to the oak double front doors. After exchanging a quick glance with her, he let himself in.  
  
"Mike?"  
  
Claire took a minute to look round the wide hallway, tastefully, but obviously expensively decorated. Paintings framed in what looked like real gold hung on the walls. The thick, luxurious carpet was free from any of the stains normally associated with a house lived in by kids. And the lights, far from being ordinary lampshades, appeared to be mini crystal chandeliers. It wasn't what she had been expecting.  
  
"Mike!" John raised his voice. "I talking to myself, mate?"  
  
There was the sound of pounding feet and Claire wondered if the famous Nick would be greeting them. John, however, was more than aware that his strapping eldest nephew would never have such light footsteps.  
  
"Danny?"  
  
A brown-haired boy of about eleven, slim and small for his age, sprinted out of the living room door at the far end of the hallway and hurled himself at John. Claire was almost surprised to see John's arm wrap round his nephew in a warm greeting.  
  
"Man, I didn't think you'd be over so soon!" Danny released John from his bear-hug and slapped palms with his uncle. "I missed ya!"  
  
Claire couldn't help but smile at the kid's excitement at seeing his uncle.  
  
"Danny. This is Claire." John spun his nephew round to face Claire.  
  
Danny stuck out a small hand. Unlike his elder brother, he was yet to hit a growth spurt and much to his disgust, he was one of the smallest kids in his class.  
  
"Are you John's girlfriend?"  
  
Claire laughed as she shook with him. "Yeah. I am."  
  
"I'm Danny. Not Daniel."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Danny."  
  
Once again he revealed his wide, toothy grin, his joy at seeing John for the first time in over a year completely unhidden.  
  
"Dad?" He raised his voice to yell at the top of his lungs. "Daaad! John's here!"  
  
"He forgotten I'm coming already?"  
  
Danny shrugged his small shoulders. "Mighta done. All he ever thinks about now's Nick."  
  
"Where is Nick?"  
  
"Out. He's always out."  
  
"John! I didn't hear you arrive!" The pleasant Australian accent drifted down the hallway.  
  
John smiled. "Hi, Jen. You all right?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. You're looking great."  
  
John grinned, looking slightly embarrassed. "Claire, this is Mike's wife Jen. Jen, Claire Stanton."  
  
The two women shook hands, Claire taking an instant liking to the smiling, easy-going Australian woman.  
  
"Come on through." Jen indicated down the hallway to the living room. "Danny, go and get your father. He's out back."  
  
"I wanna talk to John!"  
  
"I'm not goin' anywhere, mate." John couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice.  
  
Danny thought that through, then decided that he could risk losing a couple of minutes. He sprinted for the back yard as John and Claire followed Jen into the living room.  
  
"Listen, John, I just wanted to say thanks for doing this. It must've been difficult for you to get the time off. We really appreciate it." Jen moved to sit in one of the armchairs.  
  
John joined Claire on what he considered to be a ridiculously comfortable couch, reaching out to rest his hand on top of hers.  
  
"Something tells me Nick doesn't appreciate it. Last time I spoke to him he told me he didn't need me anymore."  
  
"He doesn't think he needs anyone but those morons he hangs out with at the moment."  
  
"Don't worry about him, Jen. It's a phase, it'll pass."  
  
She smiled. "Yeah. I hope so."  
  
She seemed to relax again, resting back in the armchair and looking across at Claire.  
  
"So, Claire. You work with John, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah. I've been at Sun Hill for just over a year."  
  
"You've been together...?"  
  
"No. We started going out about four months ago."  
  
John fixed his eyes on his trainers, uneasy with the natural interaction Claire seemed to have mastered within a matter of seconds, whereas it'd taken him days to be comfortable talking to Jen when he'd first met her. He was almost relieved when Mike entered the room, his daughter in his arms and Danny thundering behind him.  
  
"John, good to see you, mate."  
  
He handed Lia to his wife and stretched out his hand to John. They met in a manly hug, clapping each other on the shoulder. When they parted, Mike's warm gaze turned to Claire, a smile so like John's creasing his tanned face.  
  
"And you must be Claire."  
  
"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Mike."  
  
He smiled again, wiping his hand on pressed cream chinos before shaking with her. Unlike the images she had pictured of him, he was not the double of John. He didn't have his younger brother's slim, athletic build, or strong-featured face, nor the dark ginger hair or intense, powerful gaze. Instead he was fairly well-built, not overweight although he was nowhere near as in-shape as John, and his face was softer. His brown hair was swept back off his forehead and instead of the air of Boulton confidence and assurance she had expected, he was warm and relaxed. The hazel eyes, however, were pure John, as was the wicked grin and the slight remnants of Scouse accent. It would not be hard to tell they were brothers when they were together.  
  
"I take it you've been told Nick's out." Mike sat on the chair arm next to his wife  
  
"Danny mentioned it."  
  
"He's not been home since last night."  
  
John entwined his fingers in Claire's once again. "He often do that? Stay out?"  
  
"Two, three times a week."  
  
John wasn't sure how to respond to that. Mike too fell silent, reaching out to take his daughter again.  
  
"John, you haven't met Lia yet, have you?"  
  
"Uh...No, guess I haven't."  
  
He saw Claire's curious glance as she realised the baby wasn't exactly a new-born.  
  
"I couldn't get time off for the christening."  
  
Claire didn't say anything, her face remaining expressionless.  
  
"You want to hold her, John?" Mike got up to give Lia to him.  
  
John was quick to back away, shaking his head. "Nah, you're all right."  
  
"Come on. Babies don't bite, you know."  
  
"I'll drop her or something. Mike, no! I don't do babies!"  
  
Mike shrugged and gave in. "Have it your own way."  
  
He returned to the arm of the chair.  
  
"Listen, we're gonna go and unpack." John practically leapt to his feet, seeing a way of escape. "We're knackered."  
  
"I'll take you up." Danny scrambled out of his chair and made a dash for the door.  
  
John and Claire exchanged smiles of amusement.  
  
"Danny, I think John knows the way by now," Jen commented.  
  
"It's fine, leave him." John rested a hand on Danny's shoulder as he got up. "C'mon, mate."  
  
Danny beamed up at him and led the way at a sprint. Mike shrugged at his brother.  
  
"Sorry, mate. He hasn't learnt yet that there is a gait below running."  
  
"John! You coming?"  
  
John grinned. "Guess we'll be down later then."  
  
X X X  
  
"God, I'd kill for a bed like this at home." Claire sank onto the snowy white duvet.  
  
"Mine not good enough for you now?" John grinned, shutting the door behind Danny as his nephew bounded off downstairs again with promises from John to meet by the pool later.  
  
He sat down next to her and reached across to brush his lips against hers.  
  
"I'm glad you're with me."  
  
"Yeah. Me too."  
  
He grinned broadly again. "Hey, did you see Mike's face when he saw you? He thought I was joking when I said my girlfriend was coming with me. That was perfect."  
  
"So, I'm just a tool to wind your brother up with now?" A teasing note crept into her voice as she tilted her head to kiss him again.  
  
"Course. You didn't think I loved you or something, did you?"  
  
She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him, sending him flopping backwards onto the bed. "You'll pay for that later."  
  
He smiled up at her as she got up, not bothering to move himself. "Will I?"  
  
Claire left him to continue lounging, trainer-clad feet hanging off the end of the bed so his toes touched the floor, and crossed the room to look out of the window. She presented with a gorgeous view of evening Sydney, the sun now low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the numerous mirrored skyscrapers towards the centre of the city and the oceanic houses that were scattered further towards the outskirts.  
  
Why didn't London look that beautiful? Simply because London wasn't beautiful, it wasn't Sydney and it never could be. Sydney had sun, oceans, white sandy beaches that stretched for miles, and perhaps best of all it had the summer. London? London had the winter, rain and the cold, the murky Thames, the mud banks covered with dumped rubbish and the depressing grey buildings.  
  
"Makes London look like a dump, doesn't it?" John seemed to read her thoughts.  
  
"Yeah." The single word was uttered wistfully.  
  
"Don't be too quick to fall in love with it." John got up and joined her, standing behind her with his arms wrapped round her waist. "It's got its underworld, just like London. It's got the lowlifes, the junkies, the murderers, the dealers. People here have knives and guns as well. Pushers still get shot in the street."  
  
"Yeah, John, you just go ahead and ruin the picture."  
  
"Sorry, I'm just telling you the truth. I'm telling you, Claire, if you saw the bad neighbourhoods here, the back streets and alleys, the rat holes some of the kids Nick knows live in, you'd think the Larkmead Estate was a palace.  
  
Claire smiled ruefully. Pity you could never escape the real world.  
  
They heard a door slam from somewhere downstairs and two raised voices for a few seconds. John released her from his embrace.  
  
"I think Nick's home."  
  
Someone pounded up the stairs, heavy footsteps stomping into the carpeting. Another door slammed and rap music began to blare.  
  
"D'you wanna get unpacked?" John headed for the doorway. "I need to have a word with him."  
  
"Yeah, go ahead."  
  
John gave her a quick smile, she wasn't quite sure whether it was of reassurance or uncertainty, before leaving her alone. She heard him climb the second flight of stairs up to Nick's attic bedroom.  
  
"Nick?" John tapped on the door adorned with a dog-eared poster of a black rapper, sticking two fingers up at the camera.  
  
"It's open."  
  
John found himself a taking a deep breath. Pushing his hands into his jeans pockets as he always did when he felt awkward, he entered his nephew's room.  
  
Inside was much the same. Posters of rappers, basketball players, Page 3 girls and Aussie Rules football stars plastered the walls, which underneath were painted a dark, almost midnight blue. On the ceiling, a huge flag with the Mafia sign in the centre covered almost the full length. The laminate floor was covered with various pieces of sports equipment, together with screwed-up clothing, adult magazines, what looked like homework papers, CD cases and other miscellaneous items.  
  
Nick sat on his junk-covered bed, in front of the window that stretched the full width of the back wall. He was leaning back against the wall the bed ran along, an electric guitar in his hands.  
  
"You all right, Nick?"  
  
He glanced up sharply, hazel eyes boring into his uncle. Then he relaxed and lay the guitar down on top of his crumpled duvet.  
  
"Hey, John! Great to see ya, man!"  
  
He reached out to exchanged low fives with John, then swept another pile of clothes off the desk chair parallel to him. "Grab a seat."  
  
John straddled the chair. "Got your hair cut, then?"  
  
Nick ran a large, tanned hand across his close-cut hair. "Yeah. Pretty cool huh?"  
  
"You look like a bloody scally, mate."  
  
Nick grinned and relaxed back. In keeping with the evening heat, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of knee-length, baggy shorts. John was surprised to see how much his nephew had developed, taken-aback when he caught sight of Nick's defined arm muscles and toned torso, the sculpted pectorals and ripples of abs, even more developed than his own lean body. Nick's legs too, now probably longer than John's, showed lean strips of muscle, emphasising just how much strength he had.  
  
"Shit, Nick, you must be twice the size you were when I last saw you."  
  
"Guess so. I like working out, go down my mate's gym after school. Helps with the footie."  
  
"Still playing? Thought you might've got bored by now."  
  
"No way, I love it, man. Team captain now. There was a scout from Sydney Youth checking me at my last game. Never know, might even get into footie camp next year."  
  
"That'd be good."  
  
For a moment, Nick's strong face, so much like John's, softened into a youthful grin and he lost the cool exterior. "Yeah, it would. Turn pro, way past cool. You remember coupla years ago when I'd have you out in the back yard for hours, just practising over and over?"  
  
"Yeah, I remember. All you talked about was playing for the AFL..." John paused, quiet for a minute as he thought out his next move. "You know you could still do it, Nick. You're one of the best players I've seen, you could go all the way if you worked hard enough.."  
  
Nick's eyes illuminated at those words, then his face hardened again. "I know why you're here, John. Dad asked you to come and talk some sense it me, didn't he? Because I'm in with this gang. That's why you're banging on about the footie."  
  
"Does it matter? I thought you were pleased to see me."  
  
"I am, man, but... but I don't want anyone interfering in my life. Not even you. I can handle it, all of it.."  
  
"Then why'd you have a gun? You don't need a shooter, Nick. You'll be stronger than half those guys out there."  
  
Nick snorted. "That's what you think, man! I'm tiny compared to some of them." He flexed one sculpted bicep. "That ain't nothin, John. Guys I hang with have arms like tree trunks."  
  
"And that's why you needed the gun?"  
  
"Maybe. I don't want to talk about it, OK. Just drop it, John."  
  
John nodded, wise to the situation and knowing his nephew would not be pushed into doing anything he didn't want to. He recognised a lot of himself in his nephew, the defiance and the headstrong nature and knew that, like himself, Nick would not give way. "Fine. I won't push you. You'd probably be able to floor me now, anyway."  
  
Nick remained silent. The jovial mood of a few minutes ago was gone. He was on his guard.  
  
"Nick, this is me you're talking to. I thought we were mates."  
  
"Leave it, John. I'm not going to tell you anything. You're wasting your breath."  
  
He rubbed his hair. "Can you go?"  
  
"If you want."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
John got up. "You know where I am if.. "  
  
"I won't need to talk."  
  
X X X  
  
"How'd it go?" Mike glanced up as John entered the large, open-plan kitchen, hand-in-hand with Claire. He hadn't failed to notice that his kid brother seemed very protective of his latest girlfriend, always close by her or touching, very genuine around her. If it hadn't been John, Mike would have said it was love.  
  
"Like you need to ask." John pulled himself up onto one of the breakfast bar stools.  
  
"I did warn you, mate. He's always like that. You fancy a beer?"  
  
"Wouldn't mind."  
  
"Claire?"  
  
"Yeah, thanks." Claire returned Mike's easy smile.  
  
"Here, take Lia while I find the bottle opener." Mike pushed his daughter in John's arms before he could form a word of protest.  
  
"Mike! Claire, here."  
  
The next thing Claire knew, Lia was in her arms, John having passed her on as fast as possible. He retreated to the other side of the breakfast bar, well away from the threat of being forced to hold the baby again.  
  
"Christ, John, what'd you think she's gonna do to you?" Claire was amused by her boyfriend's horrified expression. "Typical bloke. You can handle six foot four armed robbers but give you a baby and you go to pieces."  
  
"I've told you, I don't do babies." John scowled before throwing a humorous glance at Danny, who leant in the kitchen doorway, watching with his familiar wide grin.  
  
Mike handed over to two bottles of Australian lager and took his daughter back. "He wouldn't hold Nick or Danny either when they were babies. Until they started walking he always stayed on the opposite side of the room to them."  
  
"I did not!" John wasn't amused by that exaggerated tale of his family life. He found himself feeling uncomfortable with the fact that Mike seemed to be getting on so well with Claire. He didn't like this 'perfect family' charade and he rarely played it. Mike, on the other hand, was an expert at it and much to his chagrin, Claire also seemed to be going along with it.  
  
Mike's eyes met with John's. His look of amusement died and he cleared his throat awkwardly, noticing his brother's look. God, why did it have to be that way? Why couldn't things go back to how they used to be, all those years ago? Why couldn't John forget, or at least forgive?  
  
"Anyway, dinner should be ready in about half an hour. Jen's just gone to get some stuff in."  
  
"We'll go and take a walk down the beach, then." Again, John seized the opportunity.  
  
"Fine." Mike's voice went quiet and he concentrated on sipping his own lager.  
  
"You said you'd come out to the pool!" Danny quickly protested, not about to let his uncle get away so easily.  
  
"I will do, mate. We've got all night."  
  
Danny looked up at his uncle, the adoration clear in his face. Claire could see just how much he thought of John.  
  
"Can I come?"  
  
John glanced back at Claire. She smiled. How could she say no when it was so clear the kid worshipped the ground John walked on?  
  
"Yeah, I don't see why not."  
  
John reached out to grab his youngest nephew by the shoulders. "Go on, then. What you waiting for?"  
  
Danny beamed up at him and sprinted to find his trainers. John finished his lager and followed him out of the kitchen.  
  
"You want to come, Mike?" Claire looked to the older brother.  
  
He smiled ruefully and said, with no hint of explanation. "Best not."  
  
The beach was just as beautiful as the pictures Claire had seen in holiday brochures. The ocean was a deep, sparkling blue, the sand golden and soft. In the water, a few surfers caught the evening waves and further along the beach, two couples lounged on sunbathing towels, soaking up the last few rays the sun had to offer for the day.  
  
Claire and John walked barefoot, toes digging deep into the warm sand as they strolled hand-in-hand just out of reach of the surf. Ahead of them, Danny bounded around with all the energy in the world, tossing a small- sized Aussie football up into the air. For the two police officers, for the first time in a long while, everything seemed perfect.  
  
"Danny's a great kid," Claire commented, resting her head against John's strong shoulder as they walked.  
  
"Yeah, he is." A note of pride crept into his voice.  
  
Claire smiled to herself. "He thinks the world of you."  
  
John didn't reply to that. He didn't need to. The corners of his mouth creased and he moved closer to drape his arm across her shoulders.  
  
"John! Come on!" Danny yelled. "I'm gonna score!"  
  
John exchanged amused glances with Claire.  
  
"Go on, then. You'd better go and play uncle." She reluctantly raised her head from his shoulder.  
  
"John!" Danny leapt up into the air, waving the ball.  
  
"Kids." John rolled his eyes.  
  
Claire gave him a push. "Go on! You're on holiday, remember. You don't have to be Robocop here."  
  
That was all the encouragement John needed. He caught the ball as Danny kicked it high into the air, setting off at a sprint towards his nephew.  
  
"Come on, then! See how tough you really are!"  
  
Claire stopped walking to watch, a grin spreading across her face as Danny charged after his athletic uncle, yelling at him to slow down. John continued to sprint barefoot across the sand, movements fluid and easy. Eventually, he finished having his fun and slowed enough to allow Danny to slam into the back of his legs, sending them both flying into the sand.  
  
"My ball!" Danny roared, jumping on top of John as his uncle lay helpless with laughter, wrestling weakly with the boy to try and keep the ball.  
  
"Come on, John!" Claire entered into the spirit of fun, shouting encouragement to her boyfriend.  
  
She continued to watch as John struggled to his feet, managing to swing Danny up and throw the small, light kid over one shoulder. Danny screamed with laughter as John attempted to sprint with his nephew still over his shoulder, eventually collapsing into the sand again. Claire suddenly felt warm inside. It was great, seeing John happy and relaxed, forgetting all his problems, responsibilities and hard reputation as he fooled around and played with his nephew as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She'd never thought she'd see him doing that. It hit her that John would one day make a brilliant dad.  
  
"Game over, Dan! Truce, mate!" John struggled free and sat up in the sand, face still bright with laughter.  
  
Danny released him and flopped down next to him, gasping for breath but eyes shining with uninhibited happiness. "Way cool!"  
  
John got to his feet, shaking sand out his jeans.  
  
"C'mon, Danny. Better get back."  
  
Danny scrambled up to join John as he took Claire's hand again and started back along the beach.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why's Nick saying you're just here to screw things up for him?"  
  
John glanced at the small figure trotting along beside him, trying to imitate his easy strides. "That what he told you?"  
  
Danny nodded. "After Dad told him you were coming, he came into my room and asked if I wanted to see you. Then he said you'd screw everything up. I thought he liked you, John. He never stopped talking about you last summer when you helped him with his footie. Why doesn't he like you now?"  
  
If the questions had been about any other subject, John would have been amused by his nephew's inquisitive nature. But he couldn't bring himself to smile. "I don't know, Danny."  
  
"I don't care what Nick says. I still think you're the best."  
  
That time John did smile and he threw his free arm round Danny's small shoulders. Danny beamed.  
  
"It's great when you're over, John."  
  
Claire didn't fail to notice the brightness in John's eyes. 


	4. A Hard Reality

CHAPTER 4 – A HARD REALITY  
  
That brightness was soon extinguished when they arrived back at the house and the light, playful mood from the beach evaporated. John, a million miles away from the happy, relaxed side he had shown barely five minutes ago, turned quiet and unresponsive. Dinner was a tense affair, Mike and John trying to avoid each others' gazes and Nick sullen and deliberately difficult, having been ordered down to eat.  
  
Claire, sitting in between John and Danny at the circular dining room table, began to feel as uncomfortable as John looked. She noticed Jen's knowing glance and smiled, seeing the Australian woman understood how she felt. She couldn't help but like Jen, naturally genuine and obviously a good person. In fact, she liked the whole family, especially little Danny. She couldn't work out why John was so on edge around them.  
  
"Can I go now?" Nick dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter that seemed surprisingly loud in the quiet room.  
  
"No." Mike barely glanced up. "You can stay where you are."  
  
"I wasn't talking to you. I was asking Mum."  
  
Mike started to his feet instantly, causing John to grab his brother's arm in a warning. "Leave him, Mike."  
  
Nick shoved back his chair, looking from his father to his uncle. "No, let him go, John. Then he can hit me again. That's what you want, isn't it, Dad?"  
  
"Nicholas." Mike's warning was uttered through tightly gritted teeth.  
  
"Nick, sit down." Jen spoke for the first time, reaching to lay a hand on her son's bare arm. He jerked it away before she could.  
  
"Don't, OK? I'm not a kid anymore."  
  
John kept a restraining hand on his brother. "No one said you were, mate."  
  
The hazel eyes turned to him. "You didn't. But you're the only one. They all think I'm just some stupid kid."  
  
"If you stopped acting like one then maybe we'd stop treating you like one!" That time Mike did shoot to his feet.  
  
John was up in a second, keeping Mike away from Nick. "Sit down, Mike. Just sit down!" His voice rose to a shout and he managed to push his brother back into his seat.  
  
Claire glanced at Danny, who was watching the unfolding scene with wide, wary eyes. The kid didn't know what to think and Claire felt sorry enough for him to give his tense shoulder a small squeeze. He flashed her a quick smile of thanks.  
  
"Nick?" She found herself speaking.  
  
John's nephew glanced at her. "You're Claire, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'd say it's good to meet you but my dad might hit me for it."  
  
"Why would he?"  
  
"Coz he hit me the other night."  
  
"Nicholas!" Mike's voice echoed round the room.  
  
"What? Why can't I tell her, Dad? I can say whatever I want."  
  
Mike snapped. "Get out, Nicholas. Just get out!"  
  
Nick smirked. "Be my pleasure."  
  
He started to the doorway, glancing back for a second. "You got any sense, Claire and you'll go stay in a hotel. And you, John. I wouldn't stick round here if I was you."  
  
With that he stormed out. The front door slammed behind him and the sound of a motorbike revving up could be heard.  
  
"Whose bike's that?" John looked to Jen for his answer, ignoring the irate Mike.  
  
"It belongs to one of his friends. They stop by and pick him up."  
  
John glanced at Mike. "Give us your car keys."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just do it, Mike! You want to know what he gets up to. I'm going to find out."  
  
Mike handed the keys over. "I'm coming with you."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"John!"  
  
"I said no! Don't you get it, Mike? Nick hates you! What's he going to do if he sees you following him?"  
  
Mike fell silent, burying his head in his hands. John headed for the door, resting his hands on Claire's shoulders as he passed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Claire. Look, I'll be back soon. You be okay staying here?"  
  
"Course she will." Jen gave a Claire a warm smile. "Give us a bit of time to get to know each other. Just find Nick, John."  
  
He nodded. "I will."  
  
X X X  
  
Nearly an hour later he sat in Mike's BMW, parked up across the street from a run-down apartment block where a rave was in full swing. From a third floor window, coloured lights shone out and garage music pounded. Drunk and high teenagers staggered in and out constantly, some in cars, some on foot, and most wearing shoulder holsters. It was a bad neighbourhood and John knew it. It wasn't a good idea to hang around in a flashy car for too long. John prayed silently that his nephew would hurry up and split from the party.  
  
Nick had been in there since he had left the house, along with his mate, who hadn't revealed his face so John could clock him. No doubt Nick would be pissed by now. Whether he would be high or not, John found himself feeling unsure. The Nick he had known last year would never have considered taking anything. But this young adult wasn't the Nick he had known. He was wild, unpredictable and John couldn't be sure that he wouldn't experiment. He could only hope that Nick had retained his common sense.  
  
His mobile rang out. Glancing at the display screen, he saw Mike's name. He let it ring for a few minutes before he pressed the cancel button and cut his brother off. When he looked up again, he saw the main door to the apartment block open. He expected to see another couple, ready to stumble down the side alley for a quickie. Instead Nick and his friend staggered out, definitely drunk, although John was unable to tell if they were high. He hoped to high hell they weren't.  
  
The teenagers climbed onto the bike again, Nick riding pillion and they took off down the street. John gunned the BM's powerful engine and pressed hard on the accelerator to catch up before he lost them. Ahead of him, the rider weaved dangerously from side to side, often straying onto the wrong side of the road. John watched warily, tensing each time the bike wavered. He let out a silent sigh of relief when the boys eventually drew up outside another down-trodden apartment building.  
  
John stopped the car behind a parked Jeep, protecting himself from sight, and continued to watch his nephew as Nick and his mate staggered off the bike and made their way a few feet up the street to an old Ford containing three other teenagers, all looking to be older than Nick. The teenagers all exchanged hand slaps in ways of greeting before the three exited the car. One, tall and with the lean, easy grace of a cheetah was obviously the leader. He gathered the other boys around him, talking quietly to them without any use of hand signals or movement. His body language was unreadable. He was totally in control, both of the situation and of the other teens. Nick seemed to pay special attention to the older boy's words, standing at the front of the others with his arms folded across his chest in a strong pose.  
  
Eventually, the leading boy nodded sharply and the group parted. Only then did John notice that all carried handguns and one held what looked like a sniper rifle. His eyes shot to Nick, unable to help but wonder if his nephew was armed. But if Nick was he didn't show his weapon. He waited until the other boys had entered the building before following at the back, closing the main door behind him so it locked. John could only sit and wait for them to return.  
  
After about ten minutes, the group emerged again. All except the leader carried various pieces of electrical equipment; a TV, a video, camcorder, stereo system, speakers, even a microwave. The stuff was loaded into the boot of the car and once again, the boys gathered round as the leader spoke to them. They all exchanged high fives, laughing and pushing each other around, before the older three got back in the car and drove off in the opposite direction to where John was parked.  
  
Nick and his mate were left on their own. They looked up at a window in the apartment building and flicked fingers at it, laughing and yelling things John couldn't hear. Eventually, they got back on the bike and took off in the same direction as the car. John didn't bother to follow them.  
  
X X X  
  
Claire let baby Lia grab her index finger in a tiny, hot fist, a smile crossing her face. She'd never thought of herself as maternal before, but at that moment, as she held Lia in her lap, she could imagine the joy kids brought. Just as long as the kids weren't like Lia's big brother.  
  
"I think she likes you." Jen entered the room with two mugs of coffee, placing one on the low table in front of Claire before joining her on the couch.  
  
Claire smiled. "She's beautiful."  
  
"I'm sorry about earlier, Claire. Mike and Nick just explode sometimes. They're too much alike."  
  
"Don't worry about it. John does exactly the same."  
  
"There's a lot of him in Nick." Jen took a sip of coffee. "Nick doesn't seem to have taken after me or Mike. He always worshipped John when he was little, wanted to be exactly like him. I think he gets most of his character from him."  
  
"I don't know. Mike and John are pretty similar."  
  
"I wouldn't tell them that."  
  
"They don't seem to get on too well."  
  
"No. It's always pretty tense when John comes over. I can't see what the problem is myself. John seems a good bloke. I think you're a very lucky woman, Claire. He cares a lot about you."  
  
"I hope he does."  
  
"You know he does. It's obvious, just the way he looks at you. He's mad about you."  
  
Before Claire could reply, she heard the front door opening. "Speak of the devil."  
  
There was the soft thuds of John's trainers on the carpet. Claire saw Jen's face when she realised her son wasn't with John and couldn't help but feel sorry for her.  
  
"John?"  
  
He entered the warm living room, collapsing into one of the armchairs. His eyes were strange, filled with an unreadable emotion. Claire immediately knew, just from looking at him, that something wasn't right.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"It's all right, Jen. He's just gone to a party." John hated having to lie through his teeth to the woman he unadmittedly liked.  
  
Jen didn't seem to find any reason to question him and she visibly relaxed. John's eyes drifted to Claire, one eyebrow jumping slightly when he noticed she was holding his niece. She gave him a questioning look back.  
  
"Uh... Where's Danny?" John shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to be asked any awkward questions.  
  
"In the pool. I think he's waiting for you."  
  
John rubbed his eyes. Much as he loved playing around with his youngest nephew, it was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment. He felt drained, as if what he had witnessed had just dawned hit him. Nick is a criminal, just like those kids off the Larkmead. He's no different than them.  
  
"John? You all right?" Jen looked at him over her coffee mug.  
  
"Yeah... Just got a bit of jet lag." He got up. "I'll go and have a word with Danny."  
  
He left Claire to stay put; she was obviously happy in Jen's company, and stepped out of the sliding doors onto the wooden veranda. Danny was in the pool, fooling around underwater while Mike watched from the lounger by the side of the water.  
  
"Did you find Nicky... I'm mean Nick?" he turned to face his brother as John stepped down from the veranda.  
  
"Yeah. He just went to a party. No big deal."  
  
Mike ran a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry about earlier, John. I just lost it for a minute."  
  
"Sounds like someone else we used to know," John muttered, almost inaudibly.  
  
Mike looked up sharply. "You what?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Mike nodded slowly and looked down at the glass he held in one hand. He swilled the whiskey inside it round and round. "You want one?"  
  
"You know I don't touch that shit. I can't believe you do either. I don't know how you can..."  
  
"For God's sake, John! It's a drink! It doesn't symbolise anything."  
  
"It does to me." John's voice was low and quiet, heavy with emotion.  
  
Mike softened. "Yeah. I know it does."  
  
"Don't, Mike. It just makes it worse."  
  
"Hey, John! You coming in?" Danny surfaced and swam to the edge to shout to his uncle.  
  
"How about in the morning? I'm knackered."  
  
"Leave him alone, Daniel." Mike spoke more sharply than he had intended.  
  
John saw Danny flinch at the sound of his father's voice. "Mike! It's not his fault."  
  
Danny turned his big eyes on John. "In the morning, then?"  
  
"Yeah. I promise, mate."  
  
A smile illuminated Danny's face. "Cool."  
  
He dived back down under the water. John shot his brother a look halfway between concern and disgust before turning back to the house.  
  
X X X  
  
John lay silently in bed, Claire asleep against his bare chest, but unable to drop off himself. Eventually he threw the duvet off his hot body and continued to lie in just his boxers, his fingers gently brushing through Claire's hair. A quick glance at the clock told him it was gone 2am. He'd been in bed for hours, but not once had he fallen asleep.  
  
"John?" Claire stirred against his chest, her blue eyes flitting up to meet with his. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Something bugging you."  
  
He turned his head to look at her. "Everything's fine. Honest."  
  
"What'd Nick really do tonight?" She always seemed to be able to read him, no matter how he was feeling.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"That's crap. Come on, John, I know you. I can tell when you're hiding something."  
  
John sighed almost inaudibly . "You can't tell Mike or Jen, all right? I can't grass him up like that."  
  
"What'd you take me for? Just tell me, John."  
  
He raked his fingers through his hair "Nick did go to a party tonight. More like a rave actually. But he didn't stay. He met up with these lads outside some apartment block. They went in and when they came back out they were all carrying armfuls of electric gear. They all had guns, Claire. And Nick did a burglary with them."  
  
"Did Nick have a gun?"  
  
"I didn't see one. Doesn't mean that he didn't."  
  
"You mean you think he did?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't know what to think."  
  
Claire sat up. "Was he drunk?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you think he took anything?"  
  
John shrugged. "No way of knowing. The old Nick would never have touched drugs. But I'm not sure any more. For all I know he could have a stash of Es hidden in his room. I don't know him any more, Claire."  
  
She lay down again, resting her head on his chest. "He trusts you, John. He'll tell you eventually."  
  
"He used to trust me. Whether he does now or not, only he knows."  
  
She reached up to smooth his hair with one hand. "Don't let it get to you. Just get some sleep and talk to Nick in the morning."  
  
"If he's even here."  
  
"He not come back yet?"  
  
He shook his head. "I think Mike's waiting up for him."  
  
"Why don't you go down and talk to him?"  
  
"There's nothing to say."  
  
"Well there obviously is. There's a big atmosphere between you two, John. Have you never got on?"  
  
"Yeah, actually. We were like best mates when we were kids."  
  
"What happened to make it like this?"  
  
"Things changed. We grew up. We started understanding things. I wanted to stand up to them, Mike wanted to run away. So he moved out here. We've never got on since then. I don't suppose I've ever really forgiven him."  
  
Claire was intrigued by that tiny revelation about yet another part of John's life she knew nothing about. "What things did you stand up to?"  
  
He didn't reply, clamming up as he always did when the questioning got too close to home.  
  
"Nothing. Nothing important," he eventually said.  
  
Claire rolled her eyes. "How'd I know you were going to say that?"  
  
"Leave it, Claire."  
  
"Fine." Sometimes she honestly thought that she'd never learn about the parts of his past that he was so desperate to keep secret. He always said he trusted her more than anyone. But yet he still couldn't, or wouldn't, tell her about things that obviously still hurt him inside.  
  
John kicked himself mentally and rolled over onto his side to look at her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. This stuff with Nick's just getting up my nose."  
  
"Doesn't matter. It can't be nice, seeing your flesh and blood breaking the law."  
  
"What am I gonna do about him?" John was quick to take the opportunity to steer the conversation away from his past. Shit, he'd been so close to telling her everything. He wanted to; she was the only person he trusted enough to be able to tell. But something always stopped him... "He's already on bail for having that gun."  
  
"Maybe you should I talk to Mike."  
  
"I can't, Claire. If I grass Nick up, he'll never look at me again. I need to sort this out between me and him."  
  
"You think you can?"  
  
"Can only try." 


	5. Admitting The Truth

He stood in front of the window, looking out over the city, lit up by the bright morning sunshine. In the distance, he could make out the neighbourhood where he had been last night. Was Nick still there, crashing in one of the rat holes his mates lived in? Was he already out on the streets, sauntering around with the group and their guns, looking for a law to break? Or was he lying in a gutter somewhere, unconscious from the alcohol or something worse?  
  
Movement from the bed caught his attention and he turned away from the window. Claire sat up, duvet pulled tightly around her as she squinted in his direction, almost blinded by the sun.  
  
"Where you going?" She noticed he was already dressed.  
  
"Try and find Nick."  
  
She dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. "Listen, John. I'm sorry if I tried to push you to talk last night. Maybe some things are none of my business."  
  
He smiled, seemingly relaxed again. "This isn't much of a holiday for you, is it?"  
  
"I don't know. Jen's really nice, there's a gorgeous beach five yards down the road, the weather couldn't be better and I can use the pool any time I want. Could be worse."  
  
"But then you've me, Nick and Mike constantly screaming at each other. And I keep being a moody git."  
  
"Oh, I'm used to that at home. No different." She grinned. "Seriously though, John. If there are things you don't want to talk about, you don't have to."  
  
"I don't want you to think that I don't trust you, because I do, more than anyone. There's just some things you really don't want to hear about."  
  
"I might do."  
  
He smiled again. "Believe me. You don't. Just forget it all."  
  
"Is all this about your family, John?"  
  
"Sort of. Not Danny and Nick... Others."  
  
"Is this thing why you never talk about them? Why you never visit?"  
  
"It's nothing to do with Mike's family! It's not about them."  
  
"Then who is it about?"  
  
He shook his head. "No one. A ghost..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You wouldn't understand." There was an edge of emotion in his voice. "No one does."  
  
He stopped abruptly, pushing his feet into his trainers. "I'd better go and find Nick before he goes to ground. You be all right here?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll probably go shopping with Jen or something."  
  
He leant over the bed to kiss her as he passed. "We'll do something together tonight. I promise. Make it like a real holiday."  
  
"Great. I'll see you later."  
  
He kissed her again, savouring the smell of her perfume, before giving her a smile and jogging off downstairs. Jen was in the kitchen on her own, singing quietly to herself as she started breakfast. She looked up with a bright, genuine smile as he entered. John couldn't help but return it.  
  
"Morning, John. You want a coffee?"  
  
"No, I can't stop. Did Nick come home last night?"  
  
She shook her head. "He'll have stayed with a mate. He should be at footie practise by now, though. He never misses it."  
  
"Great. I'm gonna go and find him."  
  
"See if you can get him to come back with you, John."  
  
"No problem." Once again, he lied through his teeth.  
  
X XX  
  
He'd been to the footie ground what felt like a million times before. Like everything else in Sydney, it never seemed to change. The stands were still there, the coach still bawled out his instructions through a bullhorn and Nick was still on the wing, still right in the thick of the game, still one of the most talented players.  
  
John watched from the sideline, waiting until half time to grab his nephew. He couldn't help but feel a certain pride as he watched Nick make catch after catch, tackle perfectly each time, his kicks coming hard and deadly accurate. He was fearless out there, diving in without a second thought, brushing off any hits or kicks without even pausing. John knew his nickname within in the team was 'Gazelle' in reference to the courageous, agile wild animal that he held great resemblance to out on the field.  
  
After another five minutes of hard, exhausting play, the coach's whistle sounded and the game halted for half time. The players jogged off the field, sweating, panting and bruised. Nick brought up the rear, ambling off with two of his friends. He caught sight of John and jogged over to his uncle, a smile illuminating his sweat-covered face.  
  
"Hey! Didn't expect to see you down here."  
  
"Yeah. Just thought I'd come and have a look. You were on fire out there, Nick."  
  
"Having a pretty good practise."  
  
"I reckon the AFL would be mad not to take you on."  
  
Again, Nick's teeth shone in his bronzed face. "Thanks, man."  
  
"You got a sec to talk?"  
  
"Sure. Come over here."  
  
They wandered away from the rest of the team, stopping outside the door to the locker room.  
  
"So, what's up?" Nick towelled sweat off his arms and face, tugging at the sleeveless team shirt that threatened to stick to his hot body.  
  
"Where'd you go last night?"  
  
A quizzical look entered into Nick's eyes, bright and shining with adrenaline. "Went to a party."  
  
"No, you didn't."  
  
"What you talking about?"  
  
"I saw you, Nick. With those guys. I saw you go into that apartment block and nick that gear."  
  
Nick's eyes darkened, flashing with anger so much like John's did. "You followed me?"  
  
"Yeah." There was nothing else to say.  
  
Nick hurled his towel to the ground. "Shit, John! I thought you of all people...! I trusted you, man. I thought you were cool!"  
  
"Nick, you broke into someone's apartment."  
  
"Keep your voice down, man! You want me to get thrown off the team?!"  
  
"No, course I don't. But you can't keep doing this, Nick. You think the AFL's gonna want someone with a record?"  
  
"What'd you know? Like I'm ever gonna get to play pro! It's just a dream, man! I can't make it happen. But I can make the other stuff happen."  
  
"And what'd you do with the money you get from these break-ins? You buy drugs with it or something?"  
  
Nick's muscles tensed and his eyes turned a fiery amber. "You think I take fucking drugs!? What's wrong with you? I'd never touch that shit!"  
  
"The old you wouldn't have," John muttered.  
  
The next thing he knew, Nick's balled fist made contact with his face. His head snapped back from the sheer force of the blow and he had to grab at the wall to stay on his feet. Blood poured from his split lip and he spat some savagely onto the ground.  
  
"Fucking hell, Nick!"  
  
He moved a burning gaze to Nick's expressionless face. He saw his nephew tense again, as if waiting to be hit back, and John was shocked to find himself actually wanting to punch the teenager. When he looked down at his free hand, it had tightened into a fist. It took all his will power to uncurl it, and even more to keep from grabbing Nick and throwing him up against the wall like he would have done with anyone else.  
  
"You're losing control, Nick," he muttered. "You won't be able to keep it for much longer."  
  
And he turned and walked away, a haunted look on his face. Nick was left standing alone, rubbing his bruised knuckles.  
  
X X X  
  
John looked at his reflection in the hallway mirror as he let himself back into the house. His lip had already swelled and throbbed mercilessly. He had been surprised by just how much strength Nick had. John didn't doubt that if there had been a fight, he wouldn't have escaped completely unscathed.  
  
"Nick?" He heard Claire's voice call through from the kitchen.  
  
"No. It's me."  
  
"John, come here."  
  
He kicked off his trainers and walked through to the kitchen. Claire sat at the breakfast bar, Lia on her knee, having told Jen she'd look after the baby while she went food shopping.  
  
"You been in a fight?"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"John!"  
  
"Nick punched me, all right. It wasn't a fight."  
  
"Oh, Christ, you never hit him back."  
  
"Course I didn't! I never laid a finger on him. I wouldn't hit him, Claire."  
  
He wandered right over to her and allowed her to look at his lip. He jerked away before she could touch it.  
  
"John, Mike's just got back..."  
  
"So? He'll have been to find Nick."  
  
"No. He's been drinking."  
  
She saw him tense and his eyes darkened. "He's pissed?"  
  
"Yeah. I think so. He's out the back."  
  
John swallowed hard, remaining motionless for a second. Then he strode to the kitchen door leading out to the back yard. His brother sat out on the lawn, lounging in a deck chair. John stormed across the grass to him, yanking him to his feet by his shirt front. He caught the smell of whiskey and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  
  
"You been drinking?"  
  
"Sod off, John."  
  
"I said, have you been drinking?"  
  
"So what if I have?"  
  
John retained his grip. "I don't believe you! How can you do it, Mike? After everything, how can you still pick up a bottle of Scotch and get pissed?"  
  
Like lightening, his brother's hand shot out to grab John's own shirt. John saw Mike's fist clench, ready to swing, and a feeling of overwhelming panic hit him. He couldn't control it, he couldn't stop it. Voices screamed inside his head; angry, raging yells, terrified sobbing, a kid's voice, his own voice, screaming out 'no' over and over again. Then he heard the awful sounds of a fist making hard contact with a body. His body, his father's fist. Blindly, he hit out, catching Mike across the jaw. His brother took an involuntary step back from the blow, losing his grip on John's shirt.  
  
"You're no better than Dad, you bastard!" John's voice rose, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw in breath. His face was white, his eyes still wide with a panic he couldn't quell. "You stupid git, Mike! Can't you see you're turning into him?!"  
  
Mike just stood there, one hand holding his jaw. He seemed unable to say anything.  
  
"Come on, Mike! Hit me back, smack me one like he would've done!"  
  
"JOHN!!!" His brother's angry roar stopped John.  
  
He looked at Mike, unable to stop himself shaking. Then he turned and stumbled blindly back into the house.  
  
X X X  
  
He passed Claire without a word, dropping his head to shield his face from her. She heard his footsteps on the stairs.  
  
"What's goin' on?" Danny's head poked round the kitchen door, eyes wide.  
  
"Danny, will you look after your sister for me?"  
  
"What's the matter with John?"  
  
"I'm gonna find out. Just take Lia into the living room and watch her for a while, OK?"  
  
He nodded and took his sister from Claire. She left him in the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time, up to the bedroom. John sat on the bed with his back too her, leant over his knees. Even from where she stood, by the door, she could see he was shaking.  
  
"John?"  
  
She crossed the room to him and made him raise his head. Then she saw the tears in his eyes.  
  
"You still not going to tell me?"  
  
He rubbed the palm of his hand roughly across his eyes. He could still hear the voices in his head. For a split second, an image flashed before him. He saw himself as a kid, lying on the living room floor, trying desperately to protect himself as blows rained onto his face, his arms, his ribs. The voice still screamed at him at night sometimes. Sometimes he would still feel the pain from when his ribs had been cracked by his father's boot. Even now, if ever he got hit in the ribs, or caught them during an arrest, bruising would flare instantly and he would be in pain for days.  
  
He could smell the Scotch again and he felt bile rise in his throat.  
  
"I can't." His voice was barely audible.  
  
"I heard what you said out there. It's about your father, isn't it?"  
  
John flinched at the name. "I haven't got a father."  
  
He felt Claire's arm slip round him and he suddenly wanted to pull away. He made himself remain seated, his breath rasping in his throat. Claire was quiet for a minute.  
  
"Is it because Mike got drunk?"  
  
"Not because he got drunk. I get drunk, when I'm out with the lads. But not..." he stopped abruptly.  
  
"Tell me, John."  
  
He head fell into his hands. He fought to keep the words inside him, but he couldn't stop them. They forced their way out. "My dad... My dad was an alcoholic."  
  
Claire's arm tightened around him. "Jesus, John. I'm sorry."  
  
He let his hands fall away, although he couldn't meet her gaze. He found he couldn't stop the rest from spilling out. "He used to come home every night, reeking of Scotch. Then... Then he'd take all his problems out on us. On Mam, on Mike, on me. Mostly on me..."  
  
He took a long, wavering breath before continuing. Claire remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt.  
  
"He used to knock us around like he wanted to kill us. I was the only one that'd fight back. I got him even angrier. He'd get me down on the floor and lay into me. The more I yelled, more I fought, the harder he hit me. If Mike tried to stop him, he'd send him flying across the other side of the room. I was twelve when it started."  
  
Claire's hand found his and she squeezed it hard. His fingers grasped around hers. "It went on till I was about sixteen. Most nights I wouldn't go home, I'd sleep in a mate's outhouse. I never told anyone. I couldn't. I couldn't admit it. I lived in hell for four years and no one ever knew. Even now when I smell Scotch it makes me feel sick. Just seeing Mike than, getting pissed on the fucking stuff... I couldn't handle it. It just brought everything back..."  
  
He fell silent, pinching at the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Claire's voice was soft, gentle, calming him slightly.  
  
"Because I've never told anyone. It's not the sort of thing you want to spread around, that your dad knocked you around."  
  
"Why did it stop? Did you leave?"  
  
He shook his head. "No. Mike did. Mike took off and left me to deal with it. He saved up for a plane ticket here, ended up putting himself through uni, finding a good life. But I stayed; I couldn't let Mam deal with it on her own. The only reason it stopped was because Mam eventually went to the cops."  
  
"It must've taken a lot for her to do that."  
  
"It wasn't because she'd had enough. It was because of what Dad did to me. One night he came home with two bottles inside him. He hit out at me and I just snapped. I went for him and we just started fighting in the middle of the living room. When we'd punched the crap out of each other and broken every bit of furniture in the room, he grabbed me and hurled me through the living room window. Left me lying there unconscious on the pavement while he passed out. When I came round in hospital, Mam told me he'd got eight years for GBH."  
  
"It didn't make it go away though, did it?"  
  
He gave a bitter laugh. "Took nearly a month before I got back on my feet, another before I could go back to school. Nearly three before I played rugby again. I had nightmares for ages. I'd see him in my sleep, standing over me, ready to lay the boot in. I never saw him again, but I still couldn't escape from him. Even now I can't. He's always going to be there in the back of my mind, there's always gonna be those little reminders..." His voice cracked.  
  
He abruptly pushed himself to his feet and moved to stand by the window.  
  
"Well, that's it. That's why I never talk about my family, that's why I never drink Scotch, that's why I can hardly stand up if I get hit in the ribs."  
  
"At least you stopped him."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose so." He looked straight at her. "You know I hate football? I didn't used too. When I was a kid I loved it. Dad lived for it, he'd take me and Mike to Anfield every Saturday to see Liverpool play when I was about six. I played for the school team at primary school, had my bedroom decorated in Liverpool's colours. Then when everything started, when Dad started drinking, I realised I'd only liked football because he had. I've hated it ever since then. I can't like anything that he liked."  
  
Claire felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She'd never imagined his childhood could have been so bad. It was a miracle he had managed to grow up into the courageous, dedicated, humorous man she loved. She didn't know he'd managed to put something like that behind him, let alone make a good life himself, become one of the Met's best coppers. She'd seen his bravery at work, many times, but she'd never realised just how much courage he had inside him. How much inner strength he had.  
  
"John, I had no idea."  
  
"You're the first person I've ever told."  
  
"Is that why you and Mike don't get on? Because he left?"  
  
"He was the only person I could trust, the only one I could talk too. He was always there; he'd try and stand up for me, he'd sit up with me all night if I couldn't sleep. And then he just left. I lost the last person I trusted. I don't suppose I've ever really forgiven him... And now he's getting drunk, hitting Nick, losing his rag every five minutes. When I saw him down in the yard, I saw my dad again."  
  
"John, Mike isn't your dad and he never will be. He's not an alcoholic, he wouldn't beat Nick."  
  
"But Nick won't trust him. You know, when I look at Nick now, I see myself. I started doing the same stuff he's into when I was his age, because it was the only way I could cope. He's on his own, like I was, because he won't trust Mike. I don't want him to go through what I went through, having no one to talk to, no one to help you out."  
  
"That won't happen. Nick knows deep down that Mike's there for him."  
  
John was silent for a minute. "And I'm there too," he muttered, almost inaudibly. 


	6. Straight Answers

John remained alone in the room for a while, thoughts and memories coursing through his head, uninvited and unwanted. Some time later he heard a tap on the door. His head jerked up, muscles tensing as the door opened. He expected to see Mike standing there, but it was Danny who entered the room, wearing only a pair of swim-shorts.  
  
"You okay?" He seemed nervy, eyes wide and curious.  
  
John swallowed hard. "Yeah. Come on in."  
  
Danny shut the door and joined his uncle on the bed.  
  
"Who hit you?"  
  
John raised a hand to his lip. He'd forgotten all about it. "Um... Nick did."  
  
"Did you hit him back?"  
  
"No. I wouldn't hit Nick, Danny."  
  
"But he punched you."  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"Dad hit Nick the other night." Danny looked at the floor. "I heard him. He shouldn't have done that, should he?"  
  
"No." John's voice caught in his throat. _Dads shouldn't hit their kids.  
  
_"Have you been crying?" Danny eyed him.  
  
John automatically swiped at his eyes, dull and tinged with red. "No, mate."  
  
"You gonna come down yet? You've been up here for hours."  
  
"I think I'll stay here for a bit."  
  
"I know you're mad with Dad. But he's gone to bed now. He won't be down for ages."  
  
"Do you want me to come down?"  
  
Danny nodded, naive to John's emotions.  
  
"Okay. Come on, then."  
  
They headed downstairs side-by-side.  
  
"John? Why's Dad got drunk?" Danny's voice was quiet, almost wary.  
  
John's heart lurched. He could hear himself asking that same question of Mike, when he'd been Danny's age. Almost unconsciously, he gave the familiar answer. "I don't know, mate."  
  
Danny's forehead creased into a frown. "How come no one ever tells me anything?"  
  
He didn't wait for John to answer, bounding into the living room ahead of his uncle and out of the sliding doors. John entered the room to see his nephew hurling himself head first into the pool.  
  
"You all right?" Claire, sprawled comfortably on the sofa with Lia in her lap, reached out a hand to him.  
  
He forced a smile and sat down next to her, entwining his fingers in hers.  
  
"Yeah. I'm okay. Thanks for listening."  
  
"What else did you expect me to do?"  
  
"Don't know. I've never told anyone before. Didn't know what to expect."  
  
"At least you got it off your chest."  
  
He nodded. "Listen, Claire, don't ask me about it again, will you? I don't want to... I don't know, dwell on the past, I suppose."  
  
"Okay. If that's what you want."  
  
"It is."  
  
She gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Want a coffee?"  
  
"Wouldn't mind."  
  
She smiled and pushed Lia into his arms. "Take her for five minutes, then."  
  
"Oh, come on, Claire. You can take her with you. Or I'll make it myself..."  
  
"John, she's your niece! Just hold her!"  
  
John continued to keep the baby at arms length, a look of helplessness on his face "Claire..."  
  
"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it. Five minutes, John." And she left him, horror-struck, holding Lia as if she was a priceless china doll.  
  
She left it ten minutes before she returned, determined that John was going to have some contact with the baby. She stuck her head round the living room door, almost expecting to see John at one end of the couch and Lia placed at the other.  
  
She nearly laughed. God, if only she had a camera. Her rock-hard boyfriend, legendary for his tough-man reputation, was stretched out on his back across the couch with Lia fast asleep against his chest. It looked like the most natural thing in the world. Almost like a father and his new baby...  
  
X X X  
  
By one Jen had returned and she and Claire sat out on the veranda, watching John and Danny in the pool. John, although still slightly quiet, appeared to have brightened and looked relaxed enough as he messed around, ducking and diving with his nephew. He was a good swimmer, powerful and agile in the water, and Claire was content just to watch him being himself, free from any past painful memories, at least for a while.  
  
"Hey, Mum." A now-familiar voice spoke up from the sliding doors. Nick stood there, shirtless and wearing only a pair of slightly damp basketball shorts and trainers. His jet black hair still held little droplets of what Claire assumed to be ocean water and his bronzed, muscled torso gleamed with sunscreen. He carried a sunbathing towel and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, giving away the fact he'd spent the entire morning at the beach.  
  
Jen turned in her chair to face her eldest son. "Where've you been, Nick?"  
  
"Went to footie training, then down the beach. Why?"  
  
"Because I told you to call if you weren't coming home."  
  
Nick shrugged strongly-muscled shoulders. "Yeah. So?"  
  
Jen gave up. "Did you see John this morning?"  
  
"Why should I have?"  
  
"He got caught in a punch-up downtown. I thought you might've been there."  
  
"Well, I wasn't, okay? It's not my fault if John got into a fight. I didn't have anything to do with it!"  
  
"Nick, I didn't say you did. What's the matter with you?"  
  
He rubbed at his hair. "Nothin. I'm gonna talk to John."  
  
He'd bounded down the veranda steps and had jogged off across the lawn before Jen got chance to say another word.  
  
"John? You got a minute?" Nick crouched down by the edge of the pool, rubbing his nose awkwardly.  
  
John swam over and pulled himself out of the water. He eyed his nephew, his face closed.  
  
"C'mon, man. I just wanna talk... Please?" Nick shifted uncomfortably, straightening to his full height as John stood up.  
  
"All right. Inside." John picked up his towel and walked back across the lawn with Nick, towelling excess water off his body, already bronzed by the Australian sun, before stepping inside the house.  
  
"Dad might be listening."  
  
"Your dad's passed out upstairs."  
  
A frown creased Nick's forehead. "He got drunk? Because of me?"  
  
"Yeah." John's voice tightened. "He's not going to be listening."  
  
Nick didn't seem assured and John was forced to follow his nephew into the kitchen. "Nick, just spit it out."  
  
Nick turned to face him, leaning back against the breakfast bar. "Okay. I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't mean to do... I just lost it for a minute."  
  
"Yeah. Don't worry about it, mate. It's fine."  
  
"Shit, I didn't think I'd swung so hard." Nick's eyes strayed to John's lip. "I ruined your chances with Claire now?"  
  
John's face broke into a grin. "Nah, I don't think so. Just my chances of making the front of the Met's magazine this month."  
  
Nick's eyes lit up as he smiled. "Yeah, well. Like I said, I'm sorry. Man, I don't know why you didn't hit me back."  
  
"I couldn't hit you. I could everyone else, but not you. Or Danny."  
  
"Well, thanks. And thanks for not telling Mum."  
  
"You think I'd grass you up?"  
  
Nick shrugged. "Nah. I guess not."  
  
He crossed to the fridge, jerking the door open to grab a bottle of mineral water. John watched him as he straddled one of the stools and drank.  
  
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"  
  
"You mean last night? It was nothing. One of my mates had lent this guy some money. The guy couldn't pay him back, so he said we were gonna get the money another way."  
  
"So you took every piece of electrical gear in his flat? Did your mates point their guns at his head too?"  
  
Nick shifted. "Come on, John. We didn't hurt him. We just got what we were owed. It's no big deal, wasn't even a burglary."  
  
"Maybe not this time. But the next time, and the time after that? All the way till you're breaking down doors and shoving handguns in peoples' faces, demanding money."  
  
"It won't go that far!"  
  
"How'd you know, Nick? How many times have you done this debt-collecting?"  
  
"A few."  
  
"You ever beat anyone up coz they wouldn't pay?"  
  
Nick's eyes remained fixed on the floor.  
  
"I know you got arrested for assault, only the bloke dropped the charges. He owed, didn't he?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"That tall guy last night, the one who was in the car's passenger seat. He the leader of this gang?"  
  
"So what if he is?"  
  
"Does he tell you to go out and beat people up? Point guns at them and nick their stuff? Go and out and take cars?"  
  
Again Nick was silent.  
  
"Who is he, Nick? Why do you let him control you?"  
  
"It isn't just me. He runs everything! He's the boss, John. And he's cool, okay? I do this stuff because I want to."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
Nick leapt down off his stool. "Yeah! And you can't stop me, John."  
  
He stormed to the door and John heard him pound up the stairs to his room.  
  
"I don't believe this." He hesitated slightly, then followed Nick up to his room. This time he didn't bother knocking before he walked in.  
  
"Get out of my room, man!" Nick sprang off the bed, automatically moving into a defensive position.  
  
"Oh, sit down. Or you gonna hit me again?" John pushed past him and straddled the desk chair.  
  
Nick stayed where he was for a minute, inwardly seething. Then he flopped onto the bed again.  
  
"What? What'd you want me to tell you?"  
  
"Why this guy, whatever his name is, has such a hold over you."  
  
"I'm not telling you his name!" Nick's voice rose to a shout. "In fact, I'm not telling you anything!"  
  
John was quiet for a few seconds. "Nick, at the footie ground you told me you'd never taken drugs."  
  
"I haven't! I can't believe you thought I had!"  
  
"When I see the people you hang out with, can you blame me?"  
  
Nick's eyes burned but he didn't speak.  
  
"Do your mates do drugs?"  
  
A slight shrug.  
  
"Nick."  
  
"Yeah, maybe they do a bit of dope. So what?"  
  
"Anything else."  
  
Nick ran both hands across his hair. "I've seen them snort coke. But that's it, man! And I've never had any! I'm not that stupid."  
  
"You better hadn't be."  
  
For the first time, Nick's eyes met with his. "I promise you, John. I don't do drugs."  
  
John softened. "Okay. I believe you."  
  
"Look, you can't tell my dad about anything I've said. He'll kill me if he knows any of it. Say you won't tell him, John."  
  
John didn't hesitate in saying the words he'd always wanted to hear when he'd been Nick's age. "I won't. I promise, Nick." 


	7. Talking In Whispers

It was evening when Mike showed his face downstairs. Claire, sprawled on the couch in John's arms, felt him tense as his brother entered the room. Mike sat down on the arm of Jen's chair and took his daughter.  
  
"John? I'm sorry about earlier, mate."  
  
"Yeah. Whatever." John kept his gaze fixed on the TV screen, his arms tightening round Claire.  
  
"Please, John. It was a mistake. I didn't..."  
  
"Just forget it," John interrupted.  
  
He glanced at his brother, noticing the slight bruise across Mike's jaw from where'd hit him. Mike, at the same time, noticed John's swollen lip.  
  
"I never..."  
  
"Course you didn't. I know you wouldn't hit me..." John sounded incredulous. He couldn't honestly imagine Mike laying a finger on him. "Listen, when I punched you... I just remembered everything. It wasn't you I was trying to hit..."  
  
"I know. I know who you were trying to get."  
  
Danny, lying in front of the TV, looked up. "You guys are weird. It's like you talk in code or something."  
  
His childish comment broke the ice. Mike laughed and even John couldn't stop a grin.  
  
"Listen, we're gonna eat out tonight. You two want to join us?" Mike's eyes moved from John to Claire.  
  
John opened his mouth to decline, but felt Claire nudge him before he could speak. Her look said it all. Give him a chance. He grimaced, knowing that it wasn't fair to spoil her holiday because of his feud with Mike.  
  
"Okay. We'll come."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Mike." Claire gave him a warm smile, which he immediately returned, with a grateful look.  
  
John just returned his gaze to the TV.  
  
X X X  
  
He stared at his reflection in the hallway mirror as he stood waiting with Claire. Smart and casual; V-neck T-shirt with black suit trousers and jacket, hair gelled, wearing his usual work aftershave. It had taken effort to keep his promise and not change his mind about going, let alone get dressed up and act perfectly for Claire's sake.  
  
Raised voices floated down the stairs, Mike shouting to Nick through his son's locked bedroom door, trying to persuade him to join them. Nick yelled back some expletive and five seconds later his stereo was turned on and rap music began blasting.  
  
"Nick's pissed off." Danny bounded down the stairs, wearing chinos and an untucked shirt, having been stripped of his tracksuit trousers and trainers.  
  
"You'd never have guessed." John forced the witticism..  
  
Danny grinned. "Daaad! Come on, I'm starving!!"  
  
The shouting stopped and gradually the music volume was lowered, as Nick realised he'd won that battle. Mike and Jen left him to his own devices and joined the other three downstairs, carrying Lia in her car seat.  
  
"I couldn't talk him into coming." Mike grabbed his jacket off the coatstand. "Better just go and leave him to do what he wants."  
  
"Want me to talk to him?" John offered.  
  
"No. It won't do any good. He's a stubborn git."  
  
"Sounds like people I know." Jen glanced at the two brothers, amusement in her eyes.  
  
John and Mike exchanged wary smiles. Mike cleared his throat and reached for his keys.  
  
"Right. Let's get out of here before Nick deafens us with that crap he calls music."  
  
When they had first arrived in the beach-side restaurant John had thought he was going to be sick. For the first half hour, he barely ate a thing, glancing uncomfortably round the room, holding Claire's hand under the table. But gradually he started to relax as Mike chatted amiably with Jen and Claire, making an effort to include his younger brother in the conversation. Eventually John found himself joining in, and by the time they began dessert, was joking around with Mike as if the earlier fight had never happened.  
  
"You remember when Nick tried to teach you to surf last summer?" Mike nearly choked on a sip of wine. "You couldn't stay up for more than two seconds at a time."  
  
"Yeah, at least I managed to stand. You fell off the first time you paddled out and refused to try it again."  
  
"I swallowed half the ocean!"  
  
John took a sip of mineral water, unable to stop himself laughing. "I thought I was pretty good, actually."  
  
"Didn't you notice that Nick never offered to teach either of you again after that time?" Jen interrupted.  
  
John, Mike and Claire collapsed into helpless laughter. Danny looked at them as if they were crazy.  
  
"Do I have to be seen out with you guys?"  
  
John reached over to sling an arm round his brother's shoulders. "I was still better than you, Mike."  
  
"In your dreams."  
  
John grinned. "Yeah, maybe."  
  
"Can we go now?" Danny squirmed in his seat. "You two are sooo embarrassing!"  
  
"Daniel." Jen gave her youngest son a look. "Don't start."  
  
"Leave him, he's bored." John took pity on the kid. "You wanna catch the game on TV, Dan?"  
  
"Yeah! Nick said he'd watch it with me!"  
  
"I wouldn't rely on your brother." Mike reached for the bill.  
  
"Dad!" Danny automatically stood up for his big brother, loyal to the end.  
  
John gave Claire a knowing glance and pushed back his chair. "C'mon, kid. We'll go and wait on the beach before you hack everyone off."  
  
He collared his nephew and pushed him off to the exit, saving both of them from another argument..  
  
"I notice you leave me to pay!" Mike called after him.  
  
John winked. "You're the loaded one, mate."  
  
X X X  
  
Danny shoved in between John and Claire as they walked up the driveway and dove through the front door.  
  
"Nick! The game's starting! NICK!!"  
  
No reply. Danny dived up the stairs, yelling his brother's name. Less than a minute later "I don't believe this!"  
  
He appeared at the top of the stairs as John discarded his suit jacket.  
  
"John! Nick's not here! He said he'd stay in for the game!"  
  
John shrugged up at him. "Sorry, mate."  
  
Danny's shoulders slumped. "He promised."  
  
He pushed past his uncle and wandered through to the living room. John was about to follow him when Mike stormed in, jaw set, eyes blazing with rage.  
  
"I'm gonna kill that little..."  
  
"What?" John found himself once again pushed out of the way as Mike thundered past.  
  
"Nicholas!" Mike stopped at the foot of the stairs and roared up to his eldest son.  
  
"Mike, he's not here. What's up with you?"  
  
"He's taken my fucking BMW! I swear, I've had all I can take from him!"  
  
Mike started back out to his second car. John barred his way, placing a restraining hand on his brother's chest. "How you gonna find him?"  
  
"I know a few places where he might be. Get out of the way, John. He's gone too far this time." Mike attempted to force his way past, but quickly discovered that his athletic brother wasn't going to be moved.  
  
"Mike, no!"  
  
"What'd you expect me to do!"  
  
"Don't, Mike!"  
  
"I'm not taking any more from him!"  
  
"And I'm not letting you hit him again!" John roared, losing his cool.  
  
His hands moved to grip the front of his brother's shirt. Almost instantly, Mike moved forward so his face was just inches away from John's.  
  
"Let go, John." His voice became warningly low.  
  
"No." John stood his ground, maintaining his grip.  
  
Like lightening, Mike's own hands shot out to grab John.  
  
"For God's sake!" Jen attempted to pull her husband away, to no avail.  
  
Claire always knew when John was past the stage of rational thought. She saw the fear flash in his eyes and found herself pushing between the brothers before he lost all control.  
  
"John, let him go." She managed to force his fists open, releasing Mike. John backed away, his breath coming in short, hard pulls. Once again, his face was white.  
  
"You go near Nick, Mike..." Only Claire's hands on his chest stopped him from stepping back to his brother.  
  
"He's my fucking son, John!" Mike roared.  
  
Claire had to force John backwards as he made for Mike. "John, stop it! JOHN!"  
  
"Come on, Mike." Jen attempted to push her husband back.  
  
Mike held his brother's gaze for a minute. "You can't forget, can you, John? You just can't accept."  
  
He looked at his wife, then at Claire, still keeping John back. He gave an almost inaudible sigh and turned away to head wearily up the stairs. Jen hesitated for a split second before following him. John didn't relax his taut muscles until he heard their bedroom door shut.  
  
"John, Mike isn't your dad," Claire said, softly, letting her hands drop from his heaving chest.  
  
His hands shot up to shield his face. "I can't handle this."  
  
"You can. You just need to remember that it's your brother you're squaring up to. You don't need to protect Nick from him."  
  
John raked his fingers through his hair.  
  
"John, I understand why you do it. I don't blame you."  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
Her fingers brushed across his cheek. "Course not."  
  
The spark of fear in his eyes extinguished itself and the colour returned to his face. "Thanks, Claire."  
  
He pulled her into a tight embrace.. Her arms slipped round his waist.  
  
"You all right?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. I just need a bit of time to myself. I think I'll go out by the pool for a while."  
  
He released her from his embrace and walked away, swallowing the lump that had appeared in his throat.  
  
X X X  
  
By 11pm the sun had finally been replaced by the moon and the heat had given way to a welcome coolness. John still sat out on the edge of the pool, letting his feet dangle in the warm water. The voices had once again started haunting him. They got louder and louder, pounding into his head, screaming over and over again.  
  
He shoved himself to his feet in one sharp movement, dragging his T-shirt over his head. He let it drop onto the lawn as he dived deep into the pool, still wearing his suit trousers. For what seemed like minutes he remained under the water, not moving, not swimming, just floating under the surface while the voices slowly faded and drowned. Eventually his lungs threatened to burst and he was forced to shoot back up for air. He shook the water out of his hair, the droplets creating a fine shower around him. They splashed back into the pool. They looked like the tears he hadn't cried since he was a kid.  
  
"John?" Danny crouched by the side of the pool, a small black shadow, making his uncle start. "What you doing?"  
  
"Nothing, mate. Shouldn't you be in bed?"  
  
Danny shook his head. He sat down on top of John's discarded shirt and dangled his bare feet into the water.  
  
"Do you want to know about the guys Nick hangs with?" he suddenly asked.  
  
John's head snapped up. "You know who they are?"  
  
"Sure. Everyone does. You wanna know?"  
  
John swam to the edge and climbed out of the pool. He sat down next to Danny, trousers dripping wet and clinging to his legs.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Danny splashed his feet in the water. "Well, the gang's called J2. The leader's called Keat. He runs his neighbourhood, and he's got the area around Nick's school. No one messes with him, coz his guys kill you if you do. Someone at school said that they shot this guy at the burger joint a while ago."  
  
For the first time, John realised Nick was in more than just some casual gang. "How'd Nick get in with him?"  
  
"Keat's watchers saw Nick fighting at his old school. He got expelled for it in the end. I guess Keat must've thought he'd be good to have on board, because he could fight."  
  
"What'd you mean, watchers?"  
  
"They're guys that hang around the high school at lunch times. They watch for senior guys fighting, and if they're good enough, the watchers tell whichever gang they work for. Then the guy gets taken on if the leader likes him."  
  
"Did Nick want to join this J2?"  
  
"Everyone wants to be in J2. They're big, they run the show. They all have guns, I see them at school sometimes showing them to seniors, 'specially if they're in other gangs."  
  
John found himself feeling grateful that Danny wasn't streetwise enough to realise that the gun showing had been a threat. "You think Nick's got a gun?"  
  
Danny shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. If he has, he wouldn't tell me. Anyway, I don't want to know. I stay out of the way of the watchers. I don't want to be in any of those gangs. Guys get killed."  
  
"What'd you mean, guys get killed?"  
  
"If they step on someone else's turf, they get shot. Other gangs hide around to get them. Even if they don't get done that way, there's all the fights and the turf wars. Sometimes it's just normal fighting, but they use the guns a lot."  
  
John felt his heart sink. "Listen, Dan. You stay well out of all that, you get it? Don't go near anyone's turf, don't get involved."  
  
"It's cool, I stay out of the bad hoods where Nick goes. I don't wanna get shot. And I don't want to get arrested like Nick."  
  
"You know about that?"  
  
Danny snorted. "Sure. Mum and Dad try to hide it from me, but I hear everything that's been going on at school. All the seniors say Nick's in too deep, that he won't be able to handle it. But he will. Nick's tough, he can beat anyone up. Those guys just don't like him now because he goes to the rough school. Nick can take care of himself, can't he, John?"  
  
"Yeah. Course he can. You said it yourself. He's tough."  
  
Danny grinned. "Yeah. He is."  
  
He swung his feet out of the pool and got up. "I'm gonna bed. See you tomorrow."  
  
"Has Claire gone upstairs?"  
  
"No. She's in the kitchen with Mum."  
  
"Okay. Wait for me." John got up and grabbed his T-shirt, walking with his nephew back up to the house.  
  
He heard Claire and Jen talking in the kitchen. Mike's voice wasn't among theirs. John left Danny and went through.  
  
"All right, Jen?"  
  
She nodded. Her eyes took in his wet state but she didn't comment. "Want a beer or something?"  
  
"No. I'm gonna go for a run. Need to clear my head."  
  
"Want some company?" Claire made to stand up.  
  
"Stay here." He shook his head. "I'm not really in the mood for talking."  
  
"Okay."  
  
He forced a smile. "Listen, I'm sorry. And you, Jen. About earlier."  
  
"It wasn't all your fault. You just did what you thought was best for Nick."  
  
"Was it the best thing, though?"  
  
"I don't know, John."  
  
He nodded slowly. "See you later."  
  
X X X  
  
His feet left the hard concrete of the pavement and touched the soft sand. He continued to sprint hard along the beach, trainers splashing in the surf, sweat streaming down his face. When he could push himself no harder, he slowed to a jog and gradually to a walk. His breath burned in his throat, his chest and shoulders heaving as he struggled to suck in air. Strangely, he felt better than he had done since his arrival in Sydney.  
  
He collapsed down into the sand, sweat streaming down his face and back, sticking his thin T-shirt to his hot body. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal and his lungs stopped straining for air. His gaze settled on the darkened ocean, for once empty of people. Even the most fanatical surfers had left the waves until morning. John was alone, completely alone.  
  
The silence calmed him slightly and he felt himself relax. He wanted to close his eyes but he didn't dare, for he knew what he would see. More of the images he sometimes saw at night, in dreams and in nightmares. They frightened him more than he would ever admit, left him shaking and fighting back the same tears he had cried as that angry, terrified kid. He'd never be able to escape them permanently.  
  
_What are you scared of, John? _How many times had he asked himself that question? And he'd always come up with the same answer. He was still scared of his father, the man who had beaten him, knocked him unconscious, thrown him down stairs. He hadn't seen him since he was sixteen. But he still feared him.  
  
He couldn't stop his mind from drifting back, back to the time when the only thing that had remained unbroken was his spirit, his pure determination not to let his father win. One memory always stood out from the others. His fourteenth birthday. He'd been big for his age then, strong and well-developed from captaining the rugby team all the way through high school. But never quite strong enough to stop his father.  
  
It was a time when the sport he lived for was beginning to add to the pain already inflicted on him. On several occasions he had played with ribs cracked by his father's boot. On others he had been physically unable to join in. He'd always told his coach he'd fallen downstairs, come off his bike, anything he could think of at the time. Anything but the truth...  
  
Mike had bought him the new St Helen's strip for his birthday. He'd worn it for weeks after, proud that his big brother had spent his last bit of money on him. His parents had given him a baseball set; a real bat, ball and catching mitt. At least, it had said 'from Mam and Dad' on the label. John had known his mother had paid for it. All his dad's money went on Scotch.  
  
He'd never got chance to try out the kit. He'd been out with his mates and Mike to McDonalds, hanging out in the arcade for a while afterwards. They'd returned home, expecting to be safe, their father still to be installed at the bar down the pub. Instead he'd been there, drunk as hell, stinking of Scotch.  
  
He'd sent Mike flying over the back of the sofa and punched his wife until she cowered in a corner, afraid to move. Then he'd turned on John with the first thing that had been to hand. The baseball bat his youngest son had received only that morning...  
  
John could still remember how it had felt to have the wood make contact with his body. Over and over again, accompanied by the drunken, enraged roars. He could still remember those few final blows and hear his own screams of agony, hear the soft snap of bone. Then his father had dropped the bat in front of his face as he lay sprawled on the floor, sobbing in pain, and lumbered out of the house to find himself another drink.  
  
John wasn't sure how long he'd lain there. Mike had stayed with him, holding him, telling him it would be okay. John hadn't believed him, though. Christ, he'd never experienced pain like that before. Every time he took a breath, every time he moved, he would cry out in agony and grip Mike's hand so tightly his brother would wince. After many long minutes he had finally passed out.  
  
He'd woken in that familiar white bed in that familiar white room. His arm had been encased in plaster, his ribs protected by layers of strapping, his entire body bruised and stiff. Mike had sat beside him, his own face bruised and one eye half-closed.  
  
"John, can you tell me what happened to you?" A doctor had asked.  
  
He'd looked at Mike. He'd known immediately what he had to say. "I fell down some stairs."  
  
John's hand automatically strayed to his ribs. He almost expected the touch to hurt. He glanced down at his left arm. The slight scar was still there, from where the metal pins had been inserted to knit the bones back together. Occasionally he would still feel pain in that arm, not just imaginary either, for his father had re-broken it before it'd had time to fully heal.  
  
He rubbed at his eyes, forcing away that sickening image of him lying on the floor. He couldn't handle keep seeing it over and over again. He got up and sprinted off back up the beach, pushing himself harder than he had for ages. Anything to escape.  
  
X X X  
  
He arrived back at the house exhausted and gasping for breath. His muscles screamed protests at him, threatening to cramp up. He stopped in the porch, doubling over to try and get his breath, before leaning back against the side of the wooden structure, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.  
  
The sound of two car engines filled the quiet street; one old and souped- up, the other powerful and well maintained. John heard squealing tires and then the screech of brakes being thrown on hard. The car he had seen Nick's mates in the other night stopped at the bottom of the drive. A few seconds later, Mike's BMW turned in, Nick at the wheel. He climbed out and walked casually back down to his mates' car, leaning by the window to slap palms with the other five.  
  
They all laughed and yelled curses to each other before Nick stood up and started to the driveway. As John watched, concealed by the porch, the guy called Keat got out and walked right up to Nick. He said something and Nick seemed to draw back slightly, jerking his hands out of his pockets. Then he nodded and Keat reached into the back of own jeans. John felt his muscles tense as he saw the flash of gun metal. Nick looked at the gang leader for a minute and John prayed that his nephew would walk away. But Nick stretched out a hand and took the handgun, tucking it into the back of his jeans.  
  
John's fist slammed into the side of the porch.  
  
"Fucking hell, Nick," he hissed.  
  
He waited as his nephew low-fived Keat and watched the leader get back in the car. Nick flipped a finger at the other gang members and laughed, before turning and ambling easily up the driveway. The car took off again.  
  
"Nick!" John stepped down from the porch.  
  
"Shit, John! You scared the hell outta me!"  
  
"What the fuck you playing at?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I saw you take that gun, Nick."  
  
Nick's voice tightened. "Don't know what you're talking about."  
  
His muscles tensed up and his eyes darted around. Then he turned and ran, sprinting across the front lawn. John took off after him, surprised by the turn of speed Nick was capable of. It took all of his power to get close enough to slam into his nephew in a rugby tackle. They both crashed down onto the grass, limbs flailing and breath coming in sharp pulls.  
  
"Game over, Nick! Don't fight me, I do this every day." John was forced to twist his nephew's arm behind his back, so hard was Nick fighting.  
  
Nick gradually ceased struggling and lay still, flat on his front in the middle of the lawn. "Okay, man. Get the fuck off me!"  
  
John released his arm and stood up, jerking the gun out of the back of Nick's jeans. He flipped Nick over onto his back and pushed the gun into his face. "What's this?"  
  
"What's it look like?"  
  
John dragged him to his feet. "Fuck it, Nick. You tell me what's going on or I'm gonna go in there and give this to Mike."  
  
Nick's head snapped up. "You wouldn't."  
  
"Don't mess me around, Nick. This isn't a game any more. I know about the turf wars, the shoot-outs, the death threats. Don't you get it? You could die out there! People will step out of alleys and shoot you because you're part of this gang!"  
  
"You think I don't know that?" Nick's voice rose to a shout.  
  
"You tell me."  
  
"For fuck's sake, John! You think all I have to worry about is other gangs? Keat left a guy in a coma last week!"  
  
John's anger melted slightly on hearing that. "Would he do the same to you?"  
  
"What'd you think? No one messes with Keat. No one says no to him, not if they like living."  
  
John saw the panic in Nick's eyes. "This has gone too far, Nick. This isn't about being part of a gang anymore. Can you stand there and tell me you don't have to fight through every night you spend out with them, that you don't have to watch your back constantly, that you're not scared of being shot out there?!"  
  
Nick choked on his words. "No... I know it's gone too far."  
  
Suddenly, he looked like a scared kid. He hadn't known what he was getting into. He'd been thrown in at the deep end and had just discovered he couldn't swim. John instinctively reached out to rest a reassuring hand on Nick's shaking shoulder.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
Nick's eyes met with his. "You wanted to know if Keat does drugs? He doesn't just do them, John... He deals. At my school, at the burger joint, everywhere... He wants me to go along on a deal tomorrow night..."  
  
"That's what the gun's for?"  
  
"Yeah. Keat says there'll be a shoot out. Because he's dealing to a gang from another hood..." His voice cracked. "Shit, John. I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to shoot them. I've not done that sorta stuff. I didn't think..."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What am I gonna do, man?"  
  
"You not gonna go."  
  
"Keat'll fucking kill me!"  
  
"No, he won't."  
  
"He will, John! He'll have people watching out for me. He'll have me in a coma by the end of the week! I can't back out!"  
  
John thought for a minute. "Inside. Now."  
  
He put the gun in the back of his running shorts and quietly let himself into the house. Nick shut the door softly behind them and leant back against it, as if he was expecting the gang to burst in at any second.  
  
"You gotta help me, John. I'm dead."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Listen, Nick. Just go to bed and stop panicking. We'll sort it tomorrow. You and me."  
  
"You won't tell Dad?"  
  
"No."  
  
Nick looked straight at him. They met in a manly hug, John clapping Nick gently on the back of his head.  
  
"What about the gun?" Nick pulled away.  
  
"I'll get rid of it. Don't worry. Just get up there before you wake the whole house."  
  
A ghost of a smile crossed Nick's face. "John? You know you asked if I trusted you the other day, and I didn't answer? Well, I do trust you, man. I trust more than anyone else."  
  
That was all John needed to hear. 


	8. Like A Man

Nick remained in bed until lunchtime the next day, keeping his door locked and refusing to respond to anyone. Eventually, John left him alone and went into the centre of the city with Claire. He spent the rest of the afternoon being dragged round shops, bribed out of money and looking at leather jackets and suits he couldn't afford if he saved for six months.  
  
They got back at around 4:00. Mike was in the kitchen with Jen, sipping a can of Fosters. He avoided his brother's gaze.  
  
"Has Nick been down yet?" John directed his question to Jen.  
  
"For about five minutes a couple of hours ago. Just got a drink and locked himself back in his room."  
  
"He say anything?"  
  
"About what?" Mike looked up, sharply.  
  
"Nothing." John shifted uncomfortably, swiftly changing the subject. "Here, Jen, I'll take Lia."  
  
Claire hid a smile, exchanging knowing looks with Jen. Jen handed her daughter over without a word, giving him a smile that told him not to bother coming up with a tough excuse. John couldn't help but grin back.  
  
"Danny in the pool?"  
  
"Isn't he always?"  
  
John allowed Lia to grasp his finger. "You coming out, Claire?"  
  
"Yeah. Can't miss seeing you holding a baby."  
  
They wandered out onto the veranda, settling comfortably on the swinging 'hammock' couch. Danny yelled a greeting from the water, but wouldn't tear himself away to go and join them.  
  
"You think you're ready for fatherhood yet?" Claire couldn't help but tease John.  
  
He grinned. "What'd you think?"  
  
"I think you'd make a great dad." She moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
"Yeah. Honestly."  
  
He looked at Lia. "Well, maybe... one day. No time soon."  
  
"Would you like kids?"  
  
"Never really thought about it. I suppose you have."  
  
"I've got my career, John. I love what I do and I love being able to go out for a pint with the others after work. I'm happy with that at the moment."  
  
"Yeah. Me to."  
  
"Doesn't mean that won't change though," she added, mischievously.  
  
"Don't even think about it."  
  
"Stop panicking. You'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea."  
  
John grinned broadly. "Not funny."  
  
"Yeah, it is. The look on your face."  
  
Lia grasped John's finger again. He smiled down at her. "It's when they get to Nick's age the problems start."  
  
"Oh, you'd never know from him."  
  
"He's going through a rough patch. He'll be over it soon."  
  
Claire glanced at him. "Do you know something I don't?"  
  
John put on his most innocent look. "No."  
  
X X X  
  
After much cajoling, John talked Nick into going downstairs for dinner that evening. Everyone ate in the living room, sprawling around watching a new action movie, even Mike. He and John made sure they sat at opposite ends of the room, with as much distance between them as possible.  
  
"You do stuff like that, John?" Danny asked, as the hero of the movie, an LA cop, shot a bad guy in the stomach.  
  
"Yeah. Every day," John replied, straight-faced.  
  
The humour was lost on Danny. "Way cool!"  
  
"He doesn't really, prat," Nick butted in. "He's not even issued with a gun."  
  
Danny hurled a scornful glare at his big brother. "I know that, moron."  
  
Nick aimed a kick at him, shooting back a glare of pure ice.  
  
"Nick." Jen looked pointedly at her eldest son.  
  
"Yeah, whatever. I'm gonna shoot some hoops. Gonna come, John?"  
  
John glanced up, reluctantly disentangling himself from Claire's arms. Nick's eyes told him not to refuse. "Yeah. Why not."  
  
He left Claire to continue watching the movie and joined Nick round the side of the house, where Mike had fixed a basketball net to the wall.  
  
"Your mates going to be showing up soon?" John was only too aware that Nick didn't want to play basketball.  
  
"You gotta give me back the gun, John. I'll have to go with them."  
  
"No chance."  
  
"John!"  
  
"Nick, you're not going anywhere. You'll end up with ten bullets in you if you get involved in this deal. Just let me handle them."  
  
"I can't..."  
  
"Yes, you can. Here." John shoved the basketball into Nick's hands. "Practise your shooting, do some lay-ups, whatever."  
  
Nick turned the ball in his palm. "John, please."  
  
"You said you trusted me last night."  
  
"I do!"  
  
"Then just do what I say."  
  
It seemed to take a long time for Nick to nod. "Okay."  
  
He took aim at the basket and sunk the ball in one easy shot. It kept him occupied for less than two minutes.  
  
"That's Keat's car."  
  
John heard the car engine from last night. He saw Nick tense.  
  
"Just wait here and make sure your dad doesn't come out."  
  
Nick grabbed his arm as he passed. "John..."  
  
"It's OK, Nick. Don't worry about it." John released his nephew's grip and gave him a reassuring look. He undid the side gate and walked out to the gang's car. His hand automatically reached to unhook his asp. He felt himself tense when he remembered he didn't have it.  
  
"Where's Nick?" the one called Keat leant out of the window. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Never mind who I am."  
  
"I do mind, man. And I want to know where Nick is."  
  
"He's not here."  
  
"Then where the fuck is he?"  
  
"Doesn't matter. You keep away from him."  
  
"Who's gonna make me?"  
  
"I am. I'm a copper, all right? And if you go within 10 yards of Nick again, I'll make sure you never see the outside of a prison cell again. Get it?"  
  
The gang leader looked steadily at him for a minute. "Is that a threat, man?"  
  
"No. It's a promise."  
  
Keat's lips moved into an insolent smile. "Okay, man. But you tell Nick he'd better watch himself. Tell him he'd better not go out after dark. No one fucks me around. You make sure Nick knows that."  
  
With that he nodded sharply to the guy driving and the car took off on squealing tires. John turned to find Nick standing behind him.  
  
"Shit. Did you hear all that?"  
  
Nick nodded. "I'm dead, John."  
  
"I won't let them near you."  
  
"No, man. There's nothing you can do about it. Just forget it, okay?"  
  
John reached out to him, but Nick just turned and walked away, back to the side gate. John was left feeling he had just made matters worse.  
  
X X X  
  
He banged on Nick's locked door for what must have been the tenth time that night.  
  
"Nick, c'mon. Open the door."  
  
"Get screwed."  
  
"What happened to trusting me?"  
  
"Fuck it, John. I can sort this myself."  
  
John took a double take. "What'd you mean, you can sort it yourself? Nick. NICK?!"  
  
There was silence from his nephew. Then the stereo was turned on.  
  
"Leave him, John. He won't come out." Jen appeared at the top of the stairs. "What's up?"  
  
"Uh, nothing. I just wanted a word with him."  
  
"Well, unless you break the door down... John, don't break the door down."  
  
He forced a grin. "Don't worry, I couldn't afford to have it replaced. Night, Jen."  
  
"Yeah. G'night."  
  
X X X  
  
John wasn't sure what woke him, but whatever it was had made him start. He raised his head off the pillow to glance at the luminous digits of the clock. 2:30am. He listened for a minute, unable to hear what had made him wake. He shrugged it off as his imagination going into over-drive  
  
He looked down at Claire, sleeping peacefully against him, and a smile played on his lips. He lay back down and held her closer, resting his head on top of hers as he waited for sleep to take over him. His eyelids dropped, then suddenly shot open. He sat bolt upright as he heard the souped-up engine.  
  
"Shit!" He kicked back the duvet and scrambled out of bed.  
  
He sprinted down the hallway in just his boxer shorts and took the stairs three at a time up to Nick's room, throwing the door open. His nephew wasn't there; his duvet lay crumpled on the floor and his trainers had vanished from their usual place on the floor. John's palm slammed into the wall.  
  
"Fucking hell."  
  
He sprinted back down the stairs and into his and Claire's room. Claire had been wakened by his exit and now sat up in bed, confused and disorientated.  
  
"John? What the hell's going on?"  
  
"Nothing." John threw the wardrobe door open and searched frantically around inside. "Shit!"  
  
The gun he had hidden in there the night before had gone.  
  
"John!" Claire threw back the covers and got out of bed.  
  
John dragged his T-shirt on over his head and reached for the nearest pair of jeans. He shoved his feet into his trainers before finally looking at Claire.  
  
"Nick's taken the gun..."  
  
"What gun?"  
  
"Never mind! Listen, Claire, he's in it up to his neck. Those guys will kill him."  
  
"John! Will you talk English?"  
  
He was already in the doorway. "I haven't got time. I've gotta get him out."  
  
"What does he need a gun for?"  
  
John paused for a split second. "To join in a gang war. I'm gonna find him."  
  
"And what if they shoot you?"  
  
"They won't. Don't worry about me."  
  
She crossed the room to grab his arm. "For God's sake be careful. Why can't you just call the local station?"  
  
"Coz they'll arrest Nick. He's already out on bail; he'll get sent down. I've got to deal with this myself, Claire." He brushed his lips against hers. "I'll see you later."  
  
"John, don't take any stupid risks."  
  
"I'll be fine. I'm always fine."  
  
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile before making his way silently downstairs, careful not to wake Mike or Jen. He grabbed the keys to the BMW off the hallway table and left the house. He shut the door in time to see Nick clambering into the back seat of Keat's car...  
  
X X X  
  
The gang drove back to their own neighbourhood, parking up outside a derelict car workshop; all windows smashed, walls covered in graffiti, the door adorned with the syllables J2, as if to tell everyone it was their turf. John killed the BMW's engine and watched as the gang piled out of the car. Keat unlocked the workshop door and nodded to his men. Nick in the middle, they all pushed inside. They door slammed shut behind them.  
  
John slid out of the BMW and sprinted silently across the street to the door. He crouched down in front of it, pressing his ear close to the old wood to hear what was going on inside. He couldn't hear any rival gang, only the voices of J2. No deal was going down in there.  
  
He found a crack in the door that allowed him a limited view inside. The workshop was dark, lit only by the moonlight through the smashed windows. John could just made out the gang standing in a circle around Nick. What stood out more was the baseball bat Keat held.  
  
"Look, Keat," Nick began the sentence with bravado and courage, but when he saw the others turn to watch what was said to their leader, he waned slightly. "Keat, I don't wanna go through with this, man, okay?"  
  
One of the gang sniggered. "You wussing out on us, Nicky boy?"  
  
"Back off, Jase," Keat spat. He turned to look at Nick.  
  
"C'mon, Keat! I wouldn't go against you, man..." Nick's voice stood out above the others as it rose sharply. "You gotta believe me... I tried to get out."  
  
"Didn't try hard enough, Nick." Keat tapped the bat against his own leg. "You've seen what happens when guys fuck with me. You really that stupid?"  
  
"No! Keat, c'mon, we can sort it!"  
  
"I don't think so, Nick. Sorry, man."  
  
John couldn't hear any more what was said between them, but he could see it become heated. Nick was squaring his shoulders and John recognised it from himself, that way of balancing before throwing a punch. He hesitated, knowing that if Nick did hit Keat, he could probably do enough damage, but with four others in there.....  
  
The force of a well-placed kick broke the lock on the door. All eyes turned to the entrance, free hands went to shoulder holsters and drew guns before the wooden door had time to slam against the wall.  
  
"John! Jesus Christ, man..." Panic lit Nick's eyes.  
  
Keat brought up his hand to give the signal not to fire. He smirked slightly as he watched John Boulton step into the workshop. Their workshop. Their territory. "Well, if it isn't the Pom copper come to arrest us all."  
  
Soft laughs came from behind.  
  
"You're coming with me, Nick." John stood by the door, watching Keat avidly but glancing at Nick when he didn't move. "Nick, move it," he repeated.  
  
"Not used to it, eh?" Keat asked.  
  
"To what?" John's gaze remained steady.  
  
"To kids not doing what they're told. To not gettin' your way." Keat started pacing closer to John, who stood his ground with the usual grit. "Y'see, I think you're a big tough man when you're on your own ground, when you got a badge in your pocket. But not here."  
  
He walked slowly behind John and swung the door back into place before continuing. "Right now, you're on our ground...in our country...you ain't got any authority an' you know it." He walked up behind John. "You also know you walked into a whole heap of shit now, aintcha...?"  
  
The baseball bat slammed into the back of John's knees, throwing him forward into the group. Keat swung the bat to rest on his shoulder as he watched John fall. The others spread out a fraction so that he slammed onto the ground, refusing to let out the cry of pain that welled in his throat.  
  
"Jesus, Keat, leave him, man, he ain't got nothin to do with this..." Nick started forward, his defensive stance gone.  
  
"Nick, shut up!" John spat through clenched teeth, raising himself up. His nephew had no idea what they were caught up. He did.  
  
"Yeah, Nick," Keat agreed, "you don't want to get involved." He looked up to meet Nick's eyes deliberately. "Do you?" Keat turned to the rest of the gang. "Why don't we see what our boy Nick can do."  
  
He heard the agreement. He glanced down at John, drew back his foot and slammed his boot into John's ribs, once, twice, three times , sending him sprawling on his side. "Y'see, Nick, it's that easy. A coupla kicks here, a few punches there...."  
  
"Keat, just leave him," Nick pleaded. His voice was no longer that of a strong young man, but more of the boy he was.  
  
Keat kneeled down to John as the sergeant gasped and choked, clutching at his ribs. The steel toecaps on Keat's boot felt as though they had broken something. Keat held out a hand and a gun was placed in it.  
  
"Jesus, Keat, you can't...he's my uncle...Keat...."  
  
Keat held the gun against John's temple and put pressure on to make the officer look up. They both looked into one another's eyes. "You scared, man?"  
  
John coughed but couldn't answer. A sound of pain escaped from his throat.  
  
"You should be. All alone. Just us kids here. Thought you could take us on, did'ya? This ain't Kansas anymore...."  
  
The others laughed appreciatively. All except Nick.  
  
"I could take you on any day of the week," John spat, losing his cool. "Just you and me. See what a man you are without your guns and your bodyguards."  
  
Keat stood up, allowing John to release the breath he'd held while the gun was on him. He handed the gun back to whoever gave it to him and nodded once. He watched in silence while his men gathered round John. One picked up the baseball bat and swung it into John's ribs.  
  
John attempted to fight back, desperately trying to fend off the blows as he had as a fourteen-year-old kid. He could almost hear his father yelling again, until he realised the shouts came from the other gang members as they laid the boot in.  
  
"Get off him, Keat! Leave him alone!" Nick's panicked voice rose above the others. "KEAT!!"  
  
His shouts came to no avail. John pressed his face against the floor, now unable to stop the roars of pain. Eventually, Keat raised a hand and the beating stopped. Then he turned to the young Boulton, standing with muscles tense, eyes wide and scared. Like a cornered kid.  
  
"Nick." He was handed the baseball bat. "Why don't you show us what you're made of?"  
  
Nick looked at him, disbelieving. "What?!"  
  
"Take a few shots. Show us you're a man. C'mon, Nick, anyone can fire a gun. Let's see you take a few shots of your old man's bro." He handed the bat to Nick.  
  
The others started closing in, wanting to see. Any beating was worth seeing to them, even better if they were participating in it.  
  
"Go for it, Nick, smash his fuckin' head in," one called. "He's no better than your dad."  
  
Nick looked up and grabbed the bat. He swung it up, slow and deliberate. To anyone watching, he looked like a baseball player waiting to take his shot. No better than your dad.... He looked down and no longer saw John, the man he trusted and undeniably liked, but saw Mike. He saw his goddam overbearing, authoritative father ready to get the shit kicked out of him. He heard Mike shout over and over again: "Nicholas! Nicholas!..."  
  
"...Nick....."  
  
He blinked again and saw John, face creased in pain, eyes fixed on him. He saw a glimmer in his uncle's eyes. They stared at each other what seemed a lifetime.  
  
The wooden bat sounded hollow on the concrete ground as it made contact.  
  
Keat turned to look at Nick. His eyes travelled to the bat, then back to the younger teen "Get out," he growled. "Take him with you."  
  
Nick said nothing. Part of him wanted to hurl himself into John's arms, but part of him wanted to return to Keat's side. He wanted to stick with him, see that temper and control that had aspired him to become like Keat, to see him as an older brother, a confidant, a friend and protector, the things John had been before everything had started. He had wanted to be like Keat.  
  
Had wanted. But now he knew he could not be like Keat. And he knew he no longer wanted to be like him. Shaking, he looked down at John, eyes pleading. Then he felt the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. His brain ceased to function and like lightening, he whipped the weapon out to point it directly at Keat.  
  
Instantly, the other gang members went for their own guns.  
  
"Don't!" Nick shouted. "I'll put a bullet through him if any of you move!"  
  
They all looked to Keat. He glanced at Nick, then nodded to them to relax.  
  
"You gonna shoot me, Nick?"  
  
"Just leave John alone. And me."  
  
Keat's eyes moved to his men. "Let them out."  
  
"Leave it, Nick," John choked out. "Just walk away."  
  
Slowly, Nick lowered the gun, his finger remaining taut on the trigger. He nodded.  
  
John managed to drag himself to his feet. Nick grabbed him as his legs almost gave way beneath him.  
  
"Shit, John..."  
  
"Don't...say anything. Just walk out," John commanded, clutching his ribs. "Do it, Nick!"  
  
Nick held onto him as he stumbled to the broken door. John wasn't sure whether it was out of fear, or concern for him.  
  
Keat stepped forward as they escaped out into the night. "Nick. We'll be watching you. You tell anyone 'bout anything, we'll know. Watch yourself, man."  
  
It wasn't even a veiled threat. It was clear that if Nick brought up any trouble against the J2 gang, anything could happen. Anything. 


	9. A Hard Step To Take

John staggered into the darkened living room and collapsed onto the sofa. A sound of pain escaped from his tightly-pressed lips and he gritted his teeth hard. He looked up at his nephew, standing in the doorway, still shaking slightly. The hard act was gone. Nick was scared.  
  
"Sit down, Nick."  
  
Nick flicked on the light and sat down opposite his uncle. His face was almost as white as John's and he jumped at every little noise, his eyes darted constantly.  
  
"Fucking hell, John, I never meant for all that..."  
  
"Keep your voice down, you'll wake the whole house."  
  
Nick looked at his trainers. "You okay, man?"  
  
"Yeah," John lied. "It's nothing."  
  
A disbelieving glance. "You sure?"  
  
"I'm fine, Nick!"  
  
Nick raked his fingers through his hair.  
  
"I didn't even think you knew I'd gone."  
  
"I'm a copper, Nick. I do this sorta stuff for a living."  
  
"I guess... What am I gonna do, John?"  
  
John sucked in a breath as burning pain stabbed through his chest. He saw Nick tense up.  
  
"It's all right, Nick."  
  
"It isn't, though, is it? You've had your ribs kicked in and Keat's gonna kill me."  
  
"He won't kill you."  
  
"He will, man!"  
  
John shook his head. "You'll have Mike down here in a minute! Look, it's four in the morning. Get a beer and go to bed. I can't sort this tonight, Nick."  
  
"You can't even stand! It's my fault..."  
  
"Will you stop it? And do as I say?"  
  
Nick nodded slowly and got up. "You be all right?"  
  
"I'm not dying!"  
  
Nick started to the door. "John. Thanks."  
  
"Go on. Get out of here."  
  
He heard Nick's soft footsteps padding into the kitchen and the clink of bottles as the fridge door was pulled open. After a minute he got up and left the living room, stumbling upstairs before Nick finished in the kitchen and saw what sort of state he was really in.  
  
Claire was asleep when he entered, closing the door softly behind him. Stealing a quick glance at her, he made for the chair in the far corner of the room. He stumbled as his legs gave way beneath him and he grabbed the wardrobe for support, a soft groan forcing its way out. There was immediate movement from the bed and Claire sat up, her hand reaching for the bedside light.  
  
"John, you scared the hell out of me!"  
  
He couldn't stop a cough and he groaned again as a red-hot poker shot across his ribs.  
  
"John? What's happened?"  
  
"I'm all right."  
  
"Like hell you are."  
  
John lowered himself onto the side of the bed before he ended up on the floor.  
  
"I was on the wrong end of a baseball bat and a few pairs of steel-capped boots. Nick's mates didn't appreciate me barging in on them."  
  
"You went in? On your own. Against five gang members with guns?"  
  
"They'd have done this to Nick if I hadn't."  
  
"Is Nick..."  
  
"He's fine. I got in before he got a scratch on him."  
  
He eased his feet out of his trainers and gingerly swung his legs up onto the bed. Claire's fingers skated over the swelling on his cheekbone, causing him to wince and jerk his head away.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"You can't even go on holiday without getting caught up in something, can you?"  
  
He couldn't help but return her teasing smile. "Get lost."  
  
"Sorry. Couldn't resist."  
  
He eased himself back against the pillows. "In ten years time we'll look back on this and laugh."  
  
"Will we?"  
  
John shrugged wryly. "Who knows."  
  
X X X  
  
It was gone 11 when John finally reached the surface of consciousness and prised one eyelid open. The other opened halfway but refused to go any further, and when he touched it he discovered it was swollen to twice its normal size.  
  
"Claire?" He stretched out a stiff arm to the other side of the bed, and touched cool sheets.  
  
He gingerly raised his head before letting it fall back down, realising that Claire wasn't in the room. Christ, he felt like hell. His entire body was stiff from bruising and every muscle ached mercilessly. And there was that telltale grating pain in his ribs, the hot agonising poker that was so horribly familiar to him. He didn't need a doctor to tell him he'd broken something.  
  
The door opened just as he was considering drifting back off again. Claire tossed a box of painkilling tablets at him, which he barely managed to catch.  
  
"Thought you'd be needing these."  
  
John gave her a sarcastic look and propped himself up on one elbow. "Yeah. Thanks."  
  
"How you feeling?"  
  
"All right."  
  
She gave him a look of pure disbelief.  
  
"Okay, I feel like shit. Happy?"  
  
"No."  
  
John threw back the duvet and shoved himself to his feet, a look of pain crossing his face before he forced it away. He crossed to the mirror and gingerly pushed up his T-shirt to see how bad it was.  
  
"Christ, John!"  
  
"It's nothing." He gave her a wry smile. "I'm used to it."  
  
He let the shirt drop again to hide the deep, purple bruises that covered most of his ribs.  
  
"John?" Nick's voice called as he tapped on the door.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Nick sidled in, glancing uneasily at Claire.  
  
"You all right, Nick?" she asked, with an easy smile.  
  
"Yeah." His response came too quickly. "Fine. Great..."  
  
"Nick, shut up." John butted in before his nephew made a complete prat of himself. "And sit down."  
  
Nick obediently took a seat on the end of the bed. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd not got any sleep. John guessed he wouldn't have.  
  
"I'll go and get a coffee." Claire tactfully headed for the door. "See you downstairs. If you can walk that far." She gave John a look that old her she didn't believe a word of his protests of health.  
  
The door closed behind her and Nick visibly relaxed.  
  
"I've been thinking, John."  
  
"So have I."  
  
Nick's eyes grew uneasy. "About what?"  
  
"About getting your mates done for GBH."  
  
"You can't!"  
  
"Believe me, I can."  
  
"John, please. You heard what they said last night..."  
  
"They can't do anything too you if they're in jail."  
  
Nick shook his head rapidly. "No way! Don't do this to me!"  
  
"What'd you want me to do?"  
  
"I don't know! Anything but that."  
  
John sighed audibly, then winced as pain shot through his ribs. "I'm not letting them get away with it, Nick. But think about it. They don't just need to get done for GBH. What about the drugs and the intimidation and the beatings? They could go down for a long time."  
  
For the first time, he saw a flicker of hope in Nick's eyes. "You think so?"  
  
"I know so. But I can't do anything without you, Nick."  
  
"You want me to grass, don't you?"  
  
"Not grass. You can only grass on people if they're your mates. Those guys aren't your mates. You saw that last night."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Will you do it? Will you tell everything you know?"  
  
Nick looked up at him. "I know when the next deal's going down. And I know where Keat keeps his stash. It's got the whole gang's fingerprints on it, coz he uses them for pushers sometimes."  
  
"Nick, tell me you've never..."  
  
"Course not! Actually, I never got asked too."  
  
"Good. And, Nick? You reckon it's time we brought Mike up to speed?"  
  
There was long silence, then Nick nodded slowly. "Only if you let me tell him."  
  
"You want to?"  
  
"Yeah. I gotta do this, John. He's still my dad."  
  
"Shit, you must've done a hell of a lot of thinking."  
  
"I did. And I thought about how Keat got where he is. Because he never had a family to stop him. He never knew his dad and his mum didn't give a shit. I guess I just figured...you know...that I could do a lot worse..."  
  
A smile cracked John's face. "You know you thought you were a man when you were hanging out with Keat and that lot?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You weren't. You were just a kid pretending to be a man. But now, I'm not so sure. I think you've grown up overnight."  
  
Nick allowed a smile, which quickly turned into a wide grin. "You don't blame me...do you?"  
  
John just shook his head. "Course I don't."  
  
His nephew nodded and let his gaze drop to the floor. "You're cool, man," he said, almost inaudibly.  
  
John didn't need to hear it any louder. The words themselves were good enough for him.  
  
X X X  
  
He didn't hear what was said between Mike, Nick and Jen, but as he sat in the kitchen choking down painkillers with burning hot coffee, he failed to hear any raised voices, nor the heated argument he had been expecting. Behind the closed study door, he couldn't tell what Nick was admitting too, or how Mike and Jen were reacting. He didn't need too. He knew Nick could handle it.  
  
"Do you think Mike'll kick him out?" Claire asked, watching him with an expression halfway between concern and exasperation.  
  
John shook his head. "Nick's just a kid underneath. He didn't know what he was doing and he got in too deep. I don't think Mike can blame him for making a mistake."  
  
"Reckon he'll tell him about the gun?"  
  
"He's not that stupid." John grinned broadly and reached out to hug her. "I think it'll be sorted now. Never know, I might actually get a holiday out of this yet."  
  
She reached to press her lips against his. "You never know."  
  
He grabbed her hand and got up. "Come on. I fancy a walk."  
  
"You mean you can walk?"  
  
"Will you give it a rest?"  
  
"I will do when you get down the A&E and see a doctor."  
  
John looked at his feet. "Look, Claire. I spent so much time in A&E when I was a kid, I never go near a hospital now unless I'm literally dying. The places freak me out..."  
  
Claire mentally kicked herself. "Sorry, I didn't think."  
  
"Forget it. Doesn't matter. Now you coming or what?"  
  
X X X  
  
They ambled slowly across the sand, hand-in-hand as the surf darted up to just wet their bare feet before sliding back into the ocean.  
  
"It's gorgeous here." Claire laid her head on John's shoulder and breathed in his masculine scent.  
  
"You're gorgeous." was his quick response.  
  
"Not bad yourself."  
  
John laughed, then stopped suddenly. "Claire?"  
  
"No, I'm not going in the ocean."  
  
"Will you marry me?"  
  
Claire stopped dead, the laughing smile vanishing from her face. "What did you just say?"  
  
"Claire, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone before. I never want to let you go, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"  
  
Tears welled in Claire's eyes and she threw her arms round his neck. "God, I love you so much."  
  
"Is that a yes, then? I haven't got a ring yet. You know what I'm like...spur of the moment..."  
  
"Yes." Claire cut him off in mid sentence.  
  
"Yes?" John was convinced he'd misheard at first.  
  
"John, I'll marry you!"  
  
John was totally unprepared for the feeling of pure elation that swept through him. For a minute he couldn't get his words out. He reached out and grabbed Claire's hand.  
  
"You know you said you wouldn't go in the ocean?" His eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them.  
  
"Yeah." Claire started laughing herself. His ecstasy was totally infectious.  
  
"Think again."  
  
Claire could only scream with laughter as he dragged her down the sand and into the warm, turquoise water. As the waves broke around them and their clothes grew water-logged and heavy, they wrapped their arms round each other and sealed their engagement with the most passionate of kisses...  
  
X X X  
  
Much later that night John sat out by the pool, cradling his painful ribs and downing a can of lager when Mike wandered out to join him.  
  
"How's it going, John?" He sat down awkwardly next to his kid brother.  
  
"Could be worse. You taken Nick down the station?"  
  
"Yeah. I thought he was going to back out at one time."  
  
"He wouldn't."  
  
Mike nodded. "No. He wouldn't. He's got a lot of guts for a kid." He laughed. "Takes after you."  
  
"Maybe." John stared out at the pool, not meeting his brother's eyes.  
  
"Listen, Nick told me what you did for him last night. I just wanted to say thanks."  
  
"He's my nephew, Mike. What'd you expect me to do? Leave him in there and let him get beaten to a pulp?"  
  
"You didn't have to take it for him."  
  
John smiled ironically, then grimaced in pain. "Yes, I did."  
  
Mike was silent for a minute. "John, why's it always like this between us?"  
  
"You know why." John's voice hardened.  
  
"Because I got a chance to get out? Do you still blame for taking it, the only one I was ever going to get?"  
  
John's eyes flashed with anger. "You left me! I thought I could always trust you, Mike, that you'd always be there for me. You're my big brother!"  
  
"I couldn't handle any more of it..."  
  
"And what made you think I could? It was always me that got it the worst, Mike!"  
  
Mike's voice was quiet. "Only because you fought back."  
  
"Just because you lay there and took it didn't mean I had to. I was the only one who had the guts to stand up to him!"  
  
"Yeah. And don't you remember where it got you? Lying in hospital with your arms broken or your ribs kicked in? You never got it, John. You never really understood."  
  
"I was a kid, Mike! Course I didn't understand! And I didn't understand why you left me."  
  
"I didn't just abandon you, John."  
  
"It fucking felt like it. I had no one after you left. No one to talk to, no one to tell. I was on my own."  
  
"I had to take the offer."  
  
John drew in a long, wavering breath. "I was terrified, Mike. Dad scared the shit out of me."  
  
"It was the same for me, you know."  
  
It took a long time for John to answer. "Yeah. I know."  
  
"John, what's happened since you've been here... I am not turning into Dad. I'd never beat Nick. I wouldn't lay a finger on Danny. And that night with the whiskey... It was a mistake, John. A one-off. You've gotta understand that."  
  
John raked his fingers through his hair. "I can't even smell whiskey without it reminding me of Dad. It makes me feel sick."  
  
"I know it does."  
  
Silence. Mike reached over and laid a hand on John's shaking shoulder, just like he had when they were kids, hiding in their room while the fight raged downstairs. "You're still my kid brother, John. And I still love you. I've always loved you, no matter what we went through, no matter what you did."  
  
Still John was unable to speak.  
  
"Don't you remember when you played rugby every Sunday? How I'd always turn up to watch, cheer you on? And when you graduated from Hendon? I got on the first plane I could and flew over to be there. I may have been on the other side of the world, John, but I was always there for you. I still am. I'm going to be there on your wedding day, when you eventually stop playing bachelor boy. I'm going to be there when your kid gets christened. I'm going to be there on your ruby, silver, gold and fucking purple wedding anniversary! I'm always going to be there for you, John."  
  
Slowly, John's head lifted and he looked into Mike's eyes. A tear forced its way out and for a second John thought he was going to break down. But he swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to choke out his words.  
  
"Mike, I think there's something you should know before you make all those promises."  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
John started laughing. "I asked Claire to marry me today. And she said yes."  
  
Mike looked totally disbelieving for a second. Then he too started laughing and enveloped John in a bear hug.  
  
John's eyes shone, both with tears and with pure, uninhibited happiness. "You will be at the wedding, won't you?"  
  
Mike looked straight at him. "What'd you think?"  
  
X X X  
  
"You gonna be all right now?" John asked as he hand Claire stood as the front door, cases packed and cab waiting at the bottom of the drive.  
  
Nick nodded and reached to rest his elbow on Mike's shoulder. "Yeah. I gotta give evidence at the trials, but they said I can do it by video link coz I'm under age. I'll be cool."  
  
John grinned. "I know you will."  
  
He held out an arm and the two of them met in a strong hug. "And congratulation, man." Nick smiled at Claire. "You got lucky."  
  
"I know that as well."  
  
"You're not gonna leave it another year till you come over, are you?" Danny asked, pushing in front of his big brother.  
  
"No chance. I wanna see you get into Youth swimming team. And Nick made the AFL."  
  
His nephews both grinned but neither denied that they would achieve their dreams. Their confidence in life, and in themselves, appeared to have been restored.  
  
Danny hurled himself at John and threw his arms round his uncle. "Miss ya, John."  
  
"I'll miss you too, mate."  
  
Jen handed Lia to him. "You know, John, I think you would make a good dad."  
  
"Don't give Claire any ideas." John held his niece for a minute before giving her back and allowing Jen a quick hug. He watched with a look of pride as Jen and Claire embraced. He found himself feeling glad that she had not only accepted, but started a friendship with his family.  
  
"You're a lucky woman, Claire," Jen said into Claire's ear.  
  
Claire glanced at John and squeezed his hand. "Yeah. I am."  
  
Finally, John was left with just Mike to say goodbye too. He stuck out a hand and shook with him before they threw their arms round each other.  
  
"Don't leave it so long next time," Mike said.  
  
John looked at him but said nothing.  
  
"We're sorted now, aren't we, John?"  
  
"Yeah. As far as we can be."  
  
"I know it's not something either of us are going to forget. But at least we can put it behind us?"  
  
John nodded slowly. "In time. See you, Mike."  
  
"Yeah. Bye, kid."  
  
"See you at the wedding?"  
  
"For definite."  
  
X X X  
  
John took a deep breath and paused before he tapped in the security code to the back door into the station.  
  
"You sure about this?"  
  
Claire merely reached out and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers tightly. "I'm sure."  
  
John punched in the numbers and pushed open the door to reveal the Sun Hill corridors. As usual, everyone was caught up in their own cases, dashing around with all the urgency in the world. John and Claire exchanged smiles, and set off towards the CID stairs.  
  
They felt everyone's eyes on them as they walked. Uniforms stopped and stared after them, before either dashing off to spread the gossip or whisper to their partners. Claire and John continued walking, not stopping to acknowledge the glances, nor quash the gossiping. They took the stairs side-by-side and ambled into the general office as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
All activity stopped as everyone turned to stare at the two tanned, smiling sergeants. Kerry paused with a mug of coffee halfway to her mouth. Mickey's jaw dropped, revealing a mouthful of sandwich. Don nearly slammed the filing cabinet on his own finger. Deakin gaped at them through his open office door.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Duncan was the first to speak, picking up the pen he had dropped. "Are you two...?"  
  
John grinned, enjoying the looks on his mates' faces. "A bit more than that."  
  
Deakin was quick to join the rest of the crowd. "Nice to see you two back, in some ways. Good holiday, was it, John?" He indicated to John's bruises and the visible strapping under his thin shirt, which everyone else had completely failed to notice.  
  
"Yeah. It had it's moments."  
  
"I thought you were on a secondment," Mickey piped up to Claire, with an accusing look. "Not off getting a new boyfriend."  
  
"Didn't say how long I was seconded for," Claire retorted. And a whisper in John's ear. "Tell you later."  
  
"So, are you two just going to stand there like prawns or are you gonna put us out of our misery?" Don interrupted, a knowing twinkle in his eye.  
  
John glanced at Claire and wrapped his arm round her shoulders. "All right. We've got something to tell you all."  
  
"Oh, you don't say," Kerry put in.  
  
Her sergeant didn't even look at her. "Well, Claire and I... have decided to get engaged."  
  
A shocked silence. Kerry looked like she was going to collapse on the spot.  
  
"Engaged?" Mickey squawked.  
  
"Hey! Way to go, John!" Don leapt to his feet to congratulate his best mate.  
  
The others eventually closed their gaping mouths and followed Don's lead. Claire grinned as the lads all crowded round John, clapping him on the shoulder and generally winding him up.  
  
"Well, I can honestly say, John. I never thought you'd pull something like this," Don said.  
  
Various sounds of agreement were heard.  
  
"Drinks on your tonight, are they, sarge?" Duncan put in, with a wide grin.  
  
"You never know your luck."  
  
"Hey, John." Don spoke into his mate's ear. "Who's gonna be the best man?"  
  
John cracked a knowing smile. "Have to think about it, won't I?"  
  
Don winked at him. "Okay, come on, you lot. I think this is one thing that deserves a toast."  
  
Duncan shoved a cup of coffee each at Claire and John and sat back while the others all grabbed their mugs expectantly. Deakin stood up and raised his in the air.  
  
"Right. Here's to CID's first wedding. Let's hope to God we don't make it a complete disaster for them. To John and Claire."  
  
"John and Claire." The office replied as one.  
  
"Hey, you know what?" Don put in.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Uniform are never going to believe this one!" 


End file.
